


The Knights of Summer

by Apple15



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple15/pseuds/Apple15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows the events in an alternate universe Westeros after Renly Baratheon makes a dishonourable decision at the siege of Storm's End - he orders his men to attack the forces of his brother Stannis under the cover of darkness, rather than waiting until the dawn as they had agreed. As a result, Renly survives the night. Of course, this changes EVERYTHING.</p>
<p>To avoid spoilers, the tags and warnings will be updated as the story is updated. This includes the characters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Stannis

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things. Firstly, hello everyone! Thank you kindly for taking the time to open my story. 
> 
> Since I have already published this story on a certain 'other' site, I have the first five chapters ready. I will be releasing one chapter a day on here until they reach the same place in the story... and then my updates will slow down. 
> 
> I will attempt to release one chapter a week after the initial daily release is over, of course, due to other constraints on my time I may not be able to keep this up. However, I will NOT let this story die, I intend to finish it no matter how long it takes... so please bear with me!
> 
> I am writing in the universe of the books, but I will be drawing little inspirations here and there from the HBO series.
> 
> A note to George R. R. Martin, in case he should read this... I am very sorry. I know you don't regard fanfiction very highly. If you ask me to take this down, I will do so immediately.
> 
> Please leave me your comments to let me know how I'm doing, especially if you feel a canon character is acting out-of-character.  
> Once again, thanks for reading!

 

* * *

PROLOGUE

 

_You have failed me, red woman._

He pulled himself onto the back of the destrier that his squire had saddled for him moments earlier. The sound of warhorns echoed through the mist, accompanied by the beat of thousands of hooves on the plain.

_Charging me before the dawn, is it? Dishonourable, Renly, even for you._

By the torchlight he observed his camp coming to life with violent frenzy, returning the call of the horns, hastily preparing frightened horses to face the advance. Squires were everywhere, searching for their masters, carrying swords and helmets and shields and spears and all manner of other things. Arming them for the battle. Shouting warnings. Soon the shouts would become screams.

_She failed to see this in her flames. The Lord of Light did not grant her the foresight to see this._  Stannis of the House Baratheon, the first of his name, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm wheeled his horse around to face the assault, putting the great curtain wall of Storm's End to his back. One hand was on the reins, and the other rested on Lightbringer, the sword of heroes.  
 _If I live through this day_ , Stannis thought to himself,  _I will burn whoever and whatever Melisandre tells me to. I will torch the Godswood at Storm's End and I will burn the Great Sept of Baelor the first day I set foot in King's Landing. I will take the red woman as my wife and she will give me as many sons as she wants, born in the light of the Lord._  He thought these things, but he knew that he would never need to make good on the promises. Renly's vanguard was almost upon them, and no amount of nightfires or magic swords could change that.

Grim faced, Stannis began to issue orders to his men, but he knew it was pointless. They were trapped. He knew that the moment his men lost hope, they would break, and Ser Cortnay Penrose would sally forth from Storm's End and cut them off from the sea. The men on the ships would be safe, but for what purpose? Stannis was fully aware that the moment they saw Renly riding into battle under the Baratheon standard with twenty thousand knights at his back, the men of Dragonstone would quickly realise that Renly had a better claim to the Iron Throne after all. The very thought of it left a bitter taste in Stannis' mouth. The sheer injustice... these were the knights of the Stormlands that rode with Renly, against him.

_I am their rightful lord._   _He is my younger brother, and I am their rightful lord._  The sheer weight of the betrayal made him grind his teeth as he looked around at the meagre force that was rallying to him. Stannis Baratheon was not one for making long pre-battle speeches. He inspired no love or loyalty, as Renly was fond of mentioning. He shouted a single word, fully aware that it would probably be his last.

"CHARGE!"

And the world around him exploded with sound as House Baratheon of Dragonstone made its final stand.

He saw the enemy as he galloped furiously through the mud, a mess of colourful shields and pointed lances. It would another hour at least until dawn, so it was difficult to tell one man apart from another. But he thought it likely that Randyll Tarly would be leading Renly's van, or maybe that simpering fool Loras Tyrell. Stannis doubted that it was Renly himself. The youngest Baratheon was many things, but not stupid. If he had led the charge himself, his enemies could spread rumours that he was a kinslayer, cursed in the eyes of gods and men.

_And I am going to my death now, aren't I?_  He thought grimly. _At least they will never be able to say my resolve wavered. Perhaps I will even be remembered fondly. If I am going to die, I had better die well. Not at the hands of that damnable Knight of Flowers. I will not be part of_ that _song._  
The cavalry clashed, and its seemed there was a split second of complete silence and stillness in between the chaos, before the battle began for real. Stannis didn't even need to look to know that his force was already broken, his men dropping like flies - a combination of the surprise and the wavering moral. He was aware of a single voice cutting through the raging din of war, a shrill shout... no, almost a scream.

"Baratheon! Dragonstone! DRAGONSTONE! SEAWORTH!"

With a jolt, Stannis realised the voice belonged to Devan, his squire. Davos' boy... in the battle with him.  _The boy is too young. The son of one of my most trusted advisers and I have brought him to his death. He saved the lives of everyone in Storm's End, I repaid him by cutting off his fingers. He accepted the punishment and served me loyally ever since. I repaid him by dragging his eleven year old son into a suicidal charge._

Stannis wanted to yell, to tell the boy to go, tell him to run, but it was too late. He could feel the weight of the enemies closing in around them as he stabbed a knight bearing the fox and flowers of Florent through the neck. His fourth kill of the day, and not the last. The next was a green apple Fossoway, then a man sworn to the Hightowers of Oldtown. He wounded a man bearing... was it the Tarly huntsman or the Darry plowman? Renly didn't have support from the river lords, did he? It must have been Tarly. Finally, a man with the turtle of Estermont, green on green.  _That could have been my cousin_ , he thought impassively as his manic charge continued.  _That would make me a kinslayer, as Renly now is. He ordered this massacre, whether he took part or not. He could have just come to me. We could have had peace, and seized the Iron Throne together in my name. And where is the damned red woman?_

And then he felt the world turn upside down and he knew he was defeated. Lightbringer tumbled from his hand, spiralling through the air and landing in the dirt. His horse was suddenly above him, neighing with frenzied panic. Stannis looked up to see who his killer would be. It wasn't Loras, he was thankful for that much, but the man seemed to be one of Renly's personal guard. He bore the arms of House Baratheon, a crowned stag, black on yellow.  _That is my sigil._  Stannis tried to vocalise this thought but couldn't. He realised it was because there was a sword in his chest.  _You are my guard_ , he thought, but knew it wasn't true. There was no pain, just coldness sweeping over his body. He hoped Shireen would be okay.

_You win, Renly_ , Stannis Baratheon thought as he died.  _The Iron Throne is yours. Enjoy it while you can... For yours are the knights of summer, and winter is coming._


	2. Catelyn I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: And now, we have the first proper chapter in my little tale. I hope you enjoy it even more than the prologue. It was a tricky one to write, I might add. I have copies of a particular from the POVs of Renly, Loras and Brienne, but it ended up being Lady Stark. She may not be everyone's favourite character, but I like her a lot. Whether you love Cat or despise her, please take the time to leave a comment! It's quick and easy. Summing up your opinions of my story in one word would be fine, if you're just that lazy.
> 
> The next chapter will be released tomorrow. I hope to see you then!

* * *

CATELYN I

The sunrise that morning was as red as the blood. Catelyn's horse trudged wearily across the plain of battle, bearing its mistress towards the immense fortress of Storm's End. They made uneasy progress, picking their way over the corpses of the slain. The Silent Sisters were moving between the bodies like flies, examining each briefly before moving on. Catelyn knew that only the high lords and knights who fought for Renly would receive proper burials, while Stannis's men would burn on a pyre, as bright as the sword that Stannis had wielded before his death. Even from her distant vantage point, Catelyn and her guards had been able to see exactly where Stannis had been during the entire battle, his sigil illuminated by the glow of Lightbringer. They had lost sight of him for a moment when he toppled off his horse, but then he had emerged and cut down several more men before seeming to collapse. Had he died then? The light had vanished, like a candle being blown out. Even when dawn came, the world had seemed a little less bright.

 _All this death, and all for nought,_ Catelyn thought sadly as her horse trotted uncaring across the body of one of Renly's men-at-arms.  _The Baratheon brothers could not see reason, and now Stannis is dead on Renly's orders. And all for that damned throne._ Catelyn Stark thanked the gods every day that her son had more sense than to go chasing after it.

Their approach to the gate was heralded by some cheers, and a few suspicious looks from the men who now camped around Storm's End She saw squires tending cookfires, knights and boasting. Here and there there was even a prisoner chained to a post, though the majority of them had already been taken to the dungeons under the castle. When the men whose loyalties lay with Stannis cast their baleful gazes upon her, Catelyn looked right back. She owed them that much.  _I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I tried to bring peace, and I could not even do that._

The courtyard was alive with noise, as she had expected it would be. Everyone was chattering excitedly, none more so than the high lords who had led Renly's advance. She found the young king himself with the colourful men, and woman, of the Rainbow Guard arranged behind him.

"Near two thousand dead at last count," Mathis Rowan was telling Renly loudly, as if the number was something to be proud of. "And only four hundred of them are ours. Monford Valaryon was slain in the fighting. Lord Duram Bar Emmon and Lord Ardrian Celtigar have bent the knee and accepted you as their king. The Lysene sellsail in service to Stannis was last seen sailing east with all haste, and Stannis's own ships are creeping north. Leaderless, they pose no threat. The remaining men have either yielded, fled, or been taken prisoner. It is, without a doubt, a great victory for a great king!"

"May there be a thousand more!" boomed Ser Guyard Morrigen, his rainbow cloak torn but still magnificent. The men of the Stormlands and the Reach echoed his cry.

"And what of my brother?" Renly asked, not seeming to share in the joy any more than Catelyn was.

"He is dead, Your Grace. The Silent Sisters are preparing his corpse for burial."

There was cheering, but not as much as might have been expected, and the yard was quickly silent. Renly looked more grim than everyone else present, besides Catelyn herself. She noted this carefully.  _Is he really grieved about this news? Or is this whole thing an act?_

"Did we find the red priestess who bore his standard?"

"No trace of the woman has been found, Your Grace."

Renly's frown deepened. "And Ser Barristan Selmy?" he inquired. Lord Rowan shook his head helplessly. Catelyn wondered about that as she approached the King in the South.  _If Ser Barristan did not go to Stannis or Renly, then where is he? And where is the red priestess?_

"Lady Stark!" Renly cried when he saw her, his facing morphing into his usual easy smile with an unnatural swiftness. "I trust you enjoyed the show?"

She fumed internally when she heard this, but did not allow it to show.  _I will not let Renly Baratheon get under my skin. He is barely more than a boy._ As such, her reply was courteous but cold. "I'm afraid death is not my preferred form of entertainment, Lord Renly." She did not grant him the style he had chosen for himself and she could sense that half of the men in the courtyard wanted to speak up, to argue with her choice of words. Renly spoke before they could.

"That is a great shame, as I fear there will be more shows like it before the year is out!" His voice had risen at the end of the sentence, so that he was speaking to everyone present, rather than just her. Another cheer went up in response. Renly gave a gracious bow to his subjects. "My noble lords, I fear I miss my young queen terribly. I can scarcely bare to be away from her a moment longer! We will feast here tonight, and my brother Stannis will be interred in the tombs below. And tomorrow, at dawn, we will ride for the Roseroad. Our next feast will be in KING'S LANDING!"

The cheers were deafening this time. Catelyn bowed her head, eyes closed, waiting for them to die. When, at last, there was a lull in the celebrations, she fixed her sharp stare on the man who named himself king. "Lord Renly. I ask you once again for your leave to return to Riverrun."

He waved his hand casually. "Of course, you have it. Your purpose here is served, Lady Stark. Bring my terms to your son for his consideration. And inform him of what you saw here today, so he may know what I do to traitors."

"As you wish," Catelyn told him.  _Renly Baratheon is an arrogant fool, who thinks he can fix the problems of Westeros by showering them with flowers and blood. My fifteen year old son is already twice the ruler he will ever be._ "I bid you farewell, my lords." She turned her horse and trotted away from the staring crowd, perhaps a little faster than was strictly necessary. Her guards quickly picked up her pace, and they departed the great castle of the storm lords together.

On the battlefield once more, Catelyn's party turned north. Having to lay eyes on the desolation all over again made her feel nauseated, but at least now many of the corpses had been moved. The smell of death lingered, however, clinging to the churned earth. A light breeze tugged at Catelyn's simple travel garments.  _There's a chill in the air. Autumn is upon us now, of that there is no doubt._ From there, her thoughts turned backwards towards the past, remembering where she had been the last time the season had changed. Winterfell, of course, before Bran and Rickon had been born. Sansa and Arya had been no more than babes, and Robb was a little boy who loved nothing more than to play with wooden swords in the yard with Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow. She remembered Maester Luwin coming to her with the news, while she and Ned were breaking their fasts in the solar they had shared.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Lord Stark, Lady Stark," he had said, smiling a little to show that he had not come to them with ill tidings. "I thought you might like to know. The white ravens have flown from Oldtown. Winter is over before it barely began, and soon summer will return to us."

"And may it be a long one," Catelyn had replied to him. But even now, years later, she remembered what Ned had said. "A long one it may be, but it cannot last for ever. The longer the summer, the longer the winter, or so the smallfolk say." Remembering her husband's words caused her grief, so she turned her thoughts to Robb. The memory of the boy he had been was still fresh in her mind, and it still took her by surprise every time she remembered that he had grown up. Her son now wielded more power over the North than any Stark for almost three hundred years. A boy of fifteen had severed Winterfell's ties to the Iron Throne, accompanied by the thunderous cheers of all the northern lords. I  _am truly blessed to be his mother. But he is not the only child I should be worrying about. I haven't seen Bran or Rickon in months. I could return to them, but how could I leave Robb's side when he needs me the most? And how could Robb ever return home while a Lannister army sat at Harrenhal?_ Lord Tywin was poised to renew his assault on the Riverlands, she knew this. There would be no going home for either of them unless he was defeated.

"My lady?" asked Hallis Mollen, the captain of her guard. "Is everything alright?"

Catelyn wiped away the tear that had been rolling down her cheek, and nodded. "The wind makes my eyes water, is all."

They continued on, the great castle shrinking behind them. About a mile north of Storm's End, the road ran through a thinly wooded area. Catelyn hadn't been paying much attention to the road, having been lost in thought and memory, so she didn't notice immediately when the boy stepped out in front of them. Her party slowed, and one of her guards rode out a little way.

"Make way, lad. Make way for Lady Stark." Catelyn was looking at him now. He appeared about eleven or twelve, with brown hair and eyes. He wore light leather armour stained with mud, and he was clutching a large black bundle about half his own size. When he heard who was riding with the party, his face seemed to brighten a little, where before it had been stricken with despair. He did not move.

"Lady Stark," he spoke, with a quavering voice. "My name is Devan, of the House Seaworth. I was a squire to Stannis Baratheon."

Catelyn rode immediately to the head of the party, and adressed the boy personally. "I am Lady Catelyn of the Houses Tully and Stark. Mother to Robb Stark, King in the North. What would you ask of me?"  _I failed at diplomacy with Renly. I failed at diplomacy with Stannis. I may at least succeed with this boy._

"I r-request your aid in returning me to my father, Ser Davos Seaworth, who some call the Onion Knight. I am trained as a squire and will serve you any way you want. If my father... If my father lives, you will have the e-eternal gratitude of our house." The boy was visibly shaking now, whether from cold or fear Catelyn did not know. Perhaps both. Seeing the boy like this, alone, terrified, asking a complete stranger for help... she pitied him more than words could say.  _This is your fault, Renly. If you had listened to me, then this child would not have been placed in this situation._ And so, of course, Lady Catelyn Stark nodded her head, just once.

"You will ride with us to Riverrun, under my personal care. There, we will send a raven to your father." She felt her heart become just a little warmer as she saw the sudden expression of joy on his features. "Do you have a horse?"

"Yes, my lady. I found her after the battle. My own horse died, and she lost her rider. She's over there."

"Very good. Mount up, quickly now. We need to get you as far from Renly Baratheon as we can."

She watched as the boy scurried to fetch his horse from a cluster of trees.  _And so I am leaving the Stormlands,_ she thought,  _bringing with me only a dead king's squire and terms that my son will not accept. Perhaps you should have sent the Greatjon, my sweet Robb. I fear even he could not match the damage I have done today._

Catelyn Stark closed her eyes and prayed silently, for her children and all the children of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

 


	3. Tyrion I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it! Shorter than I'd originally hoped. Tyrion is a very tricky character. Comment to let me know what you think! Anything is good, just please, send me a sign! How am I doing here? Is it good? Bad? Neither? Particularly... what can I do to improve?

* * *

TYRION I

 

"And so, Lord Stannis lies dead, while Lord Renly is marching on us with a great deal more haste than before." Lord Varys fell silent for the first time in several minutes as he looked around to see how the Small Council were taking the news.

"Marching?" Tyrion Lannister inquired sharply. "Did Renly not gain control of Stannis's fleet?

"If he did, he has not chosen to use them."

 _The smiths are making a useless chain._  
  
"We must strike." Cersei stated bluntly. "We must strike now, before he can rejoin his army."

"Strike with what, sweet sister?" Tyrion inquired politely. "We do not have the numbers to challenge Renly in the field nor the food to withstand a portracted siege. Renly is no fool. He knows the people of King's Landing are starving already. How much worse do you think it will be when the city is actually under seige?"

"If we send a raven to Harrenhal, father would-"

"Father would ignore you, as he did before. He cannot allow Robb Stark to continue his assualt on the Westerlands and he cannot help us either." Tyrion's patience for this little game was wearing thin. Or are you truly this stupid, Cersei? "He could either garrison his army in the city, which would make it even easier for Renly to starve us out, or he could challenge Renly in the field, where he would be defeated. We do not have the numbers."

"Then it would seem to me that we need allies," Petyr Baelish chimed in. The master of coin wore a solemn expression, but Tyrion could tell his mocking smile was not far away. "A shame that the Dornish will not bestir themselves to come to our aid, despite the fact that we are sending them Princess Myrcella. And to think, we could have had the armies of the Vale rushing to our aid if we had sent her to marry little Robert Arryn..." He was now giving Tyrion a very significant look.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Perhaps Lady Arryn can still be persuaded to help us." He had said it sarcastically more than anything else, but it was taken at face value.

"Lady Arryn has not yet lifted a finger to help her own nephew," Varys stated. "What chance do we stand?"

Littlefinger leaned back in his chair, grinning contentedly. "Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to go to the Vale myself. There has always been something of a rivalry between Catelyn Stark and Lysa Arryn, but when she departed King's Landing her and I were on excellent terms... perhaps if I were to offer mine own hand in marriage to her, I could win her to our cause?"

 _I trust you little and I like you less, Lord Petyr. What kind of game are you playing now?_  Tyrion glanced at Cersei and gave the tiniest shake of his head. She ignored him completely.

"I am ending the session," she announced. "We will meet and discuss matters relating to the defence of the city later. Lord Baelish, would you mind giving me a few moments of your time?"

Well that was sudden. The gods only know what Cersei and Littlefinger will plot now. Tyrion hauled himself off his chair. "Do let me know what you and Lord Littlefinger decide, won't you?" He asked her, before striding from the room. I do not like this. I am the Hand of the King. Whatever decisions they make about the realm, I should have a say.

He made his way lazily back to the Tower of the Hand, flanked by an escort of Stone Crows. The meeting hadn't lasted long, and Tyrion found himself feeling quite listless. Which is ridiculous, of course. A Hand's work is never done.

He decided to read for a while, to clear his head for whatever business that he would need to deal with later. It came knocking sooner than he had expected, however, in the form of Pod.

"Your sister requires you in court. The Queen."

"I have only one sister, Pod, and last time I checked she was the Queen Regent, not the queen. Unless of course she has wed Joffrey since last I saw her."  _She would probably be delighted to._  
  
The squire's face reddened. "Sorry, my lord. The queen regent... wishes you to come to court."

Tyrion sighed and hauled himself from his chair, rolling his eyes slightly at Pod's lack of humour  _Very well. Let us see what has sprouted from this morning's foul seed._

Fifteen minutes later found him in court, watching as Joffrey dispensed judgements to the usual kind of petitioners. Nothing of any note really took place until Littlefinger stepped up in front of the king. This got Tyrion's attention.

"Lord Petyr Baelish," Joffery spoke first, "As a reward for your many years of service to the crown, I, King Joffrey Baratheon, confer upon you the castle and lordship of Dragonstone, to be held by you and your descendants until the end of time."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow.  _Very short and to the point. What next, I wonder?_  
  
Cersei stood now, speaking for her son and the realm. "We thank you once again for your diligence and aptitude in your position as Master of Coin. However, the Iron Throne has a new task for you. The threat posed by the traitor and usrper Renly Baratheon is not to be taken lightly, and the King wishes to forge a new alliance with Lady Regent Lysa Arryn of the Vale. Lord Petyr, you will go to her and offer her your own hand in marriage, and for a suitable match to be arranged for her son Lord Robert Arryn, who is henceforth restored to his rightful title as Warden of the East. Finally, you shall go to Lady Arryn with a promise: we will launch an investigation into the murder of her husband Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, and bring his killer to justice."

The court fell silent. Tyrion's eyes widened with surprise for a brief moment, before scanning the room to see how people were taking this. Littlefinger was giving a sweeping bow, accepting graciously, thanking the king for his new title, but he wore his wide, mocking grin. Obviously, he knew about this. Joff didn't look surprised either. The rest of the assembled court, however, broke into a sudden chorus of murmuring. Not surprising, Tyrion thought. As far as everyone knows, Jon Arryn died a natural death. This may cause more problems than it solves...

The session ended, and all too soon Tyrion found himself back in the chambers of the Small Council. The seats were uncomfortable, the smell of the city overpowering, but Tyrion Lannister found that holding power here made all that seem... unimportant somehow. Lord Baelish was not present. Bronn had brought word that he had already left the city with a considerable escort of Gold Cloaks.

"Good evening, sweet sister," Tyrion began. "Thank you for letting me in on your plans."

"I did not feel it was prudent for you to know, dear brother. We worked out all the nessecary details, so there was no need to trouble you with them."

"You offer justice for Jon Arryn? And how, may I ask, are you planning to offer that?"

Varys tittered nervously. "I am working on it, my lord hand. My informers are working day and night to find us the truth about Lord Arryn's demise."  
And what is that? Tyrion wondered.  _Did you not kill him yourself, Cersei? Or was it another?_  
  
"These matters are not for us to concern ourselves with now," Cersei said. "Lord Renly will come down upon us with all his strength, and we must be ready. The defence must be planned. I have sent another raven to Harrenhal, informing father of the possible alliance with the Vale, and instructing him to join up with any force that Lady Arryn sends to aid us. Another raven has flown to Balon Greyjoy on Pyke, informing him that if he sends men to defend the Westerlands from Robb Stark, he will be greatly rewarded."

The last point, at least, Tyrion approved of. _The Greyjoys may hate us, but they hate the Starks more. But isn't Lord Balon's son their hostage?_ "Very well," Tyrion said carefully, "In that case, I think we can end the shortest council meeting ever with the smallest council ever. I must attend to other business."  
Varys bobbed his head, departing, but Cersei lingered for a moment.

"Tyrion... I apologise for how I've acted recently. I see now, that you were only trying to help... and perhaps Myrcella really will be safer in Dorne." She planted a kiss on his forehead and swept from the room, leaving Tyrion alone and speechless.  
 _She's plotting something, or I'm a giant._  This thought only led to places he did not want his mind to go, right now.  _A giant of Lannister._  
He had a king to control, a sister to out-think, and a city to save. But all Tyrion Lannister wanted was Shae.


	4. Brienne I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my personal opinion, this is the best so far. Although... I'm a big Brienne fan, so that might be why. Thank you to my commenters, would love to seem more from you guys! Awesomeness! :D

* * *

BRIENNE I

They rejoined the foot south of Tumbleton. Renly was in his element, riding triumphantly at the head of his knights. And when the huge sprawl of men saw his approach from the Roseroad, the cheer that went up was deafening. Brienne rode with him, Loras Tyrell on his other side. The Knight of Flowers had worn a permanently prideful expression all the way from Storm's End, and now was no exception. There was so much shouting when Renly rode through to the heart of his army that Brienne thought it a wonder she did not go deaf. And when Renly dismounted his horse and kissed Queen Margaery, the word 'cheering' ceased to apply. They screamed for him. Brienne of Tarth simply lowered her head.

Next came a meeting. Renly sat at the head of a large table, his lords around him. Brienne stood at the door to the tent where they held council. Two more members of the guard were stationed outside, and the others were most likely sharing mead and stories with those not fortunate enough to be at Storm's End. Loras and his brother Ser Garlan sat at the table with Renly, representing their father and Highgarden.

"My friends," Renly began, and Brienne realised that in many cases it was true.  _They admire him. How could they not?_  "I come from the Stormlands with good tidings. Stannis lies dead, his forces smashed. May I now present to you all Duram Bar Emmon, Lord of Sharp Point, and Ardrian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle. They have sworn their houses to our cause."

Brienne watched as the two newcomers took seats at the far end of the table from Renly. She wasn't surprised they had bent the knee. Duram Bar Emmon was a chubby, feeble looking boy of no more than fifteen, and Ardrian Celtigar was an old man.  _They have no fight left in them._  She saw some of the other lords shooting them dirty looks.

"And now, it is time to lay our plans. We have the numbers and weapons to storm King's Landing. The city will fall quickly. Lady Catelyn Stark tells us Lord Tywin is at Harrenhal with one Lannister army, and another host is gathering at Casterly Rock."

"Good news on that front, Your Grace." Garlan interrupted. "We have recived word that Robb Stark attacked the second army three days from Lannisport. Few survived." This news brought hoots of satisfaction from the lords who had not heard this news. Brienne was pleased. Lady Catelyn had seemed kind and gracious. After her reaction to the battle at Storm's End, she deserved some good news.

"Excellent!" Renly exclaimed. "We have barely any enemies left, by the looks of things. If we take King's Landing and Harrenhal, the Tullys will bend the knee. When they do, the Vale and the North will follow. The Greyjoys, should they cause trouble, I will smash as Robert once did. The war is all but won, gentlemen. What now, then? Shall we march on King's Landing?" There was barely a reason to ask. However, while the others cheered, Randyll Tarly got to his feet. They soon fell silent, and Renly looked at him quizzically.

"Your Grace. I must suggest another course of action." He spoke quietly, but Brienne knew that everyone in the tent heard him perfectly. "King's Landing is easier to take from the north, not the south. Having to travel through the Kingswood and across Blackwater Rush would hamper our progress. I have another suggestion."

A few people murmered assent, and Renly seemed intruiged. "Go on, Lord Tarly."

"I propose that you lead the army north, cross the Mander at Tumbleton, and join the Goldroad. From there, you can send the foot to King's Landing and lead the horse further north, to the Kingsroad. There, Tywin Lannister will be cut off from lifting the seige. If he tries to return to the west, we can attack him in the rear while the river lords take him in the front. If he goes south, the river lords will seize the opportunity to take Harrenhal. If he tries to go north, he will find nothing there either. The host of northerners at the Twins will secure Moat Cailin against him, leaving him trapped. Lady Arryn will not allow him to pass through the Vale, so east is not an option. He will be trapped, and there is nothing he will be able to do about it."

There was another silence. A few of the younger lords were stunned, even awed, by the beauty of the plan. Brienne had to admit, it sounded very neat and tidy, catching all loose ends. Renly seemed to agree, giving a sly smile.

"This plan is well considered and sensible, Lord Tarly, but if Tywin Lannister marches before we can close off the Kingsroad, it will be a problem..." He looked thoughtful for the briefest of moments, before standing himself. "A problem we can only solve by moving faster than he does. My lords, prepare the horse to leave at first light. I will lead them myself once again. The foot will follow under Ser Garlan."

Garlan Tyrell bowed low. "I thank you for the honour, Your Grace."

"It is settled, then. I will take my leave. Ser Loras, may I have a word with you in my pavillion? There is something we need to discuss."

Loras nodded, and the pair departed together. When Brienne followed, Renly looked back at her. "I have no further need of you tonight, my lady. I suggest you prepare yourself for the ride."

"Of course, Your Grace." Brienne said, nodding. However, she already felt sufficiently prepared for the ride, so she wandered to her tent and lay down to rest.

Her respite was interrupted shortly, however, by shouts from outside. She couldn't make out the words, but she understood the tones well enough. Harsh mockery, with more than a hint of cruelty.

She rose. _I may not be a knight, but I am of the Rainbow Guard now. I am charged with keeping the peace among Renly's men._

She left her pavillion, which was coloured blue to represent her place among King Renly's seven. _Who dares to cause commotion so close to the king's tent?_  She saw them, now. They were two knights, middle aged men with sigils and faces she did not know, and one squire who looked around sixteen. They had surrounded a crouching figure and were shouting at him. A few others watched with interest, but no discontent.

"Some kind of lord, is that what you think you are?"

"He don't look like no lord to me. He's the size of a small holdfast! Some poor bugger is probably lord of him!" This was the squire, and he accompanied his words with a sharp kick. The figure gave a whine of pain, and the men laughed.

"That's what you get, boy!"

Brienne moved between the two knights, and spoke with as much authority as she felt comfortable using. "Step back, please."

They turned to face her, expressions of defiance upon their faces. This is going to go badly.

"What was it you said, beauty?" One of them growled. "Do you want us to step back?"

"What if we don't wanna?" asked the squire. "What if we wanna keep teaching lord turncloak here a lesson?"

_Lord turncloak?_  Brienne thought, looking down at the victim of their cruelty. It was a boy, she saw, bearing the sigil of a blue swordfish on his doublet.  _Bar Emmon._ She suddenly realised exactly who this was.

"This is... unbelievable!" she sputtered. "He is a lord, and you should respect him like one!" Duram Bar Emmon was now trying to pull himself to his feet. The two knights took a step closer to Brienne. Meanwhile, the squire kicked out again, sending the younger boy sprawling in the mud.

"And who are you to tell us that? We're knights, you know."

Brienne was almost to enraged to speak. Her hand was clasped firmly on the hilt of her sword. "I said, step  _away_." The bolder of the two men advanced towards her anyway, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Have you taken leave of your senses, or just your honour?" inquired a polite voice from behind Brienne. She turned her head sharply to see an armoured, bearded man with long brown hair who she knew at once from the earlier war council. "To me, it looks to me like it might be both." Garlan Tyrell was not addressing her. He was looking directly at the men standing around the boy lord. They immediately backed off somewhat.

"She..." One of them began. "We only..."

"Do you know who this woman is, sers?" Garlan inquired mildly. "She is Brienne Tarth, heir to Evenfall Hall, member of King Renly's Rainbow Guard, and winner of the melee at Bitterbridge. She rode at the head of King Renly's vangaurd at the siege of Storm's End, bearing the banner of Baratheon. On the other hand, you two are a pair of landless hedge knights who are so poor you have to share a squire, who, I might add, lacks the wit to saddle a horse. Luckily, I doubt either of you own horses. So, where does that leave us? This woman is worth ten of you," he indicated the first knight, "And ten of you," he dismissively waved his hand at the second, "And ten of you," he fixed the squire a contemptuous gaze. "I bet none of you are even smart enough to add those three numbers up. I'm not surprised, since you were all stupid enough to physically abuse one of King Renly's sworn bannermen no more than forty feet away from  _King Renly's own tent."_

The men were beginning to look terrified. The squire, in particular, appeared to be in danger of crying. "I arrest you, in the name of the king." Ser Garlan needed only to raise his voice slightly, and every sword owned by every man in the vicinity was drawn, and men were running to surround them. Lord Duram broke in to gracious sobs at Garlan's feet, and Brienne went down on one knee before him.

"My lord Garlan," she said quietly. "Thank you, ser."

"It was my pleasure, Lady Brienne. We do not want the king's camp befouled by such men as those, do we?" She shook her head, still stunned, but rose from the ground. Garlan was helping the young lord to stand. Behind them, the hedge knights were being dragged noisily away. "I'm going to find the young lord here a squire to help get him cleaned up. If you would be so kind, inform the king of this and request that he provides some guards to Lord Bar Emmon and Lord Celtigar."

Brienne nodded mutely, and began to walk towards Renly's pavillion. However, she noticed a familiar child scurrying away from the scene of the incident. It took her a moment to place him, but then she remembered.  _Dickon Tarly. Off to tell Lord Randyll more tales about Brienne the Beauty causing trouble among the men, no doubt._  It was a sour prospect, but Ser Garlan had been so courteous to her that she found that she no longer seemed to care what Lord Tarly thought.

She entered the great pavilion noting with displeasure that nobody guarded the entrance. She couldn't see anyone, but she heard voices and paused. She didn't want to interrupt or to eavesdrop, so she simply waited, trying not to listen.

"...really that simple? Tarly could be leading you astray, I don't know if I-"

"Would you please calm down? The man is a seasoned battle commander, one of the finest in Westeros. We have nothing to fear..." This second voice belonged to Renly, she knew, and the first to the Knight of Flowers.  _They are still talking? At this hour?_  She inched closer, disgusted with herself for not announcing her presence at once.

"You must see why I am saying this. If anything happened to you... I don't think I could-" Loras broke off again, and there was silence, apart from some... sounds, that Brienne wasn't quite sure of. She took another step, entering the tent properly, and peered around the bookshelf. There, she saw Renly was lying on his bed, with Loras at his side. First, she saw that they were naked. Next, that they were holding hands. Then she saw why Loras had stopped talking: King Renly's lips were locked with his in a passionate embrace.

Brienne felt as if she had been struck. She staggered backwards out of the tent, her head a whirl of thoughts.  _Margaery. He is wed,_ was the first.  _For a man to lie with another. The faith names it a sin._ Next was,  _he is her brother. How can he do this to her?_ Brienne's fourth thought was not a thought at all, not truly, just an overwhelming sense of jealousy. She stumbled back to her tent, blinded by tears of confusion and a question that was now so important that she wanted to shout it, scream it until she could scream no more. But she couldn't. She was sworn to protect the king, and that included his secrets, but...  _Margaery. The faith. He is her brother._

Brienne of Tarth collapsed onto her bed, tears dropping onto the woollen blankets, the question on her lips.  _What do I do?_

She did not ask, for nobody would have answered.


	5. Catelyn II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather like this chapter. What do you think? Pleeeeeease leave a comment to tell me. A sentence is enough! I'm flying blind, here!

* * *

 

CATELYN II

 

The candlelight flickered, causing the shadows to dance on the wall as she finished the letter, ending with her small, curly signature. Frowning, she placed the quill back in the inkpot that she had borrowed from Maester Vyman as she read it back. Eventually, she folded it up and sealed it with red wax. She rose from her chair and made the climb back to the rookery, where she found the old maester feeding the ravens.

"Maester. You must send this to Dragonstone, immediately."

"Of course, my lady, but if I may ask-"

"Best that you don't, maester. I would rather my business remain discreet until my son has returned, at least." _Though there is small chance of that. My guardsmen all know who the boy is._

"Of course, my lady. Right away." The old man turned, chose a bird carefully, and began to attach the letter to its leg. Catelyn turned and began to descend the staircase, the sound of fluttering wings behind her as the raven bore her message away. _Ser Davos Seaworth is a traitor to King Joffrey and King Renly, but not King Robb. I have done nothing wrong._

They had been back in Riverrun for a mere five hours. The long ride from Storm's End had been tiresome, but Catelyn had not found many opportunities to rest since she had father remained in the same condition, if a little worse, but outside his bedchamber things were changing fast. Tywin Lannister had marched from Harrenhal, and her little brother had called the banners of Riverrun and meant to offer him battle. Furthermore, her son, her eldest boy, was laying waste to the west at the head of his own army. It was almost too much to comprehend. The last report from the south was that Renly Baratheon was storming towards King's Landing with all his power, and she was harbouring the squire of his dead brother.

She had arranged for a tower room for the boy, and it was there she went now. He had worked diligently on the journey, doing as he was asked without question or complaint. However, he kept to himself for the majority of the trip, preferring to ride a little way off from the others. And there was always the question of the mysterious bundle he carried, which was almost as big as the boy himself. He had kept it strapped to the back of his saddle, and remained silent when Catelyn inquired about the contents. She did not press the issue; Devan Seaworth would reveal his secrets in his own time, if at all. That was how children were.

As she knocked gently on the wood of the door, she caught sight of the scars caused by the bite of the dagger that the assassin had carried, the night he had come for Bran. The very idea that someone would try to kill her defenseless little boy as he lay in his bed still made her upset and angry. And Ned... Tyrion Lannister may have used treachery and tricks to try to free his brother, but he had also returned her husband to her. Catelyn Stark felt like she had found more things to think about and grieve about in the last two years than in every other year of her life combined. _My husband, my sons, my daughters, my father, my brother, my sister... Family, Duty, Honour._ She had already found that she couldn't hold Tyrion's actions against him. She would have done the same in her position. _But he is a Lannister. He does not want his brother free out of love._ However, as she thought it, she remembered her prayers in the little sept, on the night Stannis had died. She remembered how she had thought of Cersei, and of Jaime, and the lengths they had gone to for the protection of their secret, their children. _Perhaps Tyrion wants Jaime back out of a similar devotion, and not a desire to win the war._

The door swung open, but no sound came from inside. She entered quietly and saw the boy spread out on his mattress fully clothed, snoozing gently. The bundle lay next to him, and Catelyn took the opportunity to look closely at it. She didn't open it or even get close, but she could tell that it was a long object, and it seemed to be wrapped in a black cloak. The dark stains of dried blood did not escape her notice, either. _He had it with him in the battle, or he found it there._

The boy's eyes flicked open then, and he scrambled into a sitting position when he saw her, mingled surprise and fear on his face. However, he calmed down noticeably when he recognised her.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I was..."

"No need to apologise. I was the one in your room uninvited. I am sorry that I disturbed you, I thought I would just see how you were settling in."

"T-thank you, my lady. I am doing fine."

She pulled up a chair and sat down, giving the boy a friendly, if somewhat weary, smile. "You will be pleased to hear that I have sent a raven to your father on Dragonstone this evening," she began. "I have assured him that your return is unconditional. You are not a prisoner here, Devan. You have freedom of the castle, but I must request that you do not wander. Riverrun is full of my father's lords and smallfolk, and there are Lannister envoys in the castle still. It could be bad for both of us if one of them recognised you. I trust Edmure with my life, and the lords of the rivers are loyal to him, and my father, and me. But it would be unwise for us to allow word to reach Renly that I had taken you in. He might see it as an insult from my son."

Devan nodded furiously to show his understanding, but did not speak. "If there is no reply from Dragonstone," Catelyn went on, "Or we get word that the castle has fallen, I will send another raven to your mother on Cape Wrath. If I cannot return you to your parents, you will be allowed to journey north to Winterfell as my ward, where you can live until I find a way to return you to your family."

"My lady... I don't know how to thank you. You've risked so much for me, and there's nothing I can do in return."

"I do not ask anything. It is my pleasure to help you. Let me know if there is anything you need, and I will do my best to provide it." She had toyed with the idea of having the boy become a squire for Edmure, but she quickly decided that Devan Seaworth had seen more than enough of the horrors of war.

"My lady... It feels wrong of me to keep this a secret from you, after you have been so good to me," the boy spoke hesitantly, picking up the bundle and slowly unwrapping the war torn cloak from around it.

It was as if the sun itself was shining in Devan Seaworth's lap. The dimly lit room was suddenly illuminated, the uncertain light of the candles overwhelmed by the blaze of the sword. And then the boy was standing, holding it out for her to see, a tear running down his cheek.

"If it pleases my lady," he spoke softly, "I show you Lightbringer, the red sword of heroes. Forged in the fires of the false gods for King Stannis."

 _Mother have mercy on us all,_ Catelyn thought. The boy wrapped the burning sword back in the cloak. The beautiful weapon was covered by the darkened wool, and night filled the room again, barely warded off by the dancing glow cast by the candles. A shiver passed through her as she remembered the woman who had rode beside Stannis. _Forged in the fires of the false gods. Mother have mercy._ Devan was now sitting on the bed, his face in his hands.

"I picked it up during the battle... After Stannis... After he..." The boy's voice was shaky. "I killed the man who did it... I _killed_ him. Then I wrapped the k-kings sword in his cloak... and I had to... I had to pretend to be dead..."

 _We must be rid of it,_ she thought."You must keep it hidden," she said instead, moving to put her arm around the boy. However, he flinched away from her touch and rolled over on the bed, burying his face in the blankets. "You must keep it hidden well," she insisted. He raised his head just enough to nod, and then flopped back down.

Catelyn Stark rose from the bed, and took a step towards the door. _I am no comfort to the child. I am a mother, but not his mother. I must leave him alone._ She was filled with regret about this choice, but had a feeling it would be better in the long run. "I must retire to my chambers," she told him. "If you need anything, speak to a guard. They'll be able to find me." She strode from the room without looking back, trying not to hear the boy's muffled sobs.

From there, Catelyn returned to her own chambers, blew out the candles, and lay down to rest. _My husband, my sons, my daughters, my father, my brother, my sister..._ she prayed quietly for the best part of an hour, and even after that, sleep took a long time coming.

The dawn was grey, with the promise of an even gloomier day to follow. Catelyn awoke with the ghosts of nightmares playing through her mind, fading quickly to leave nothing but bad memories.

She broke her fast in her solar, eating only simple food so not to upset her stomach. Edmure joined her, most of his anger from the day before having melted away. Indeed, he seemed almost peaceful as they ate, if a little distant.

"How is father today?" he asked, breaking a silence that had lasted minutes.

"No different. He was asking after mother, today." Catelyn's voice was heavy with sadness. "You should see him, Edmure."

"If he was asking after mother, then to him I haven't been born." Her brother said no more, but Catelyn knew what he was thinking. _If father does not know him, it will break his heart._

"Still. You should see him again soon. He will miss you."

"The child who accompanied you back from Storm's End." Edmure said abruptly, to change the subject. He had given Devan a curious look the day before, but had not remarked at the time. "Who is he?"

"An orphan of the war," she replied after a pause. It was almost true, after all. "He will serve me as a page while I remain in Riverrun."

"As you wish. But, Cat..."

"You have allowed more than a hundred smallfolk into the castle out of the goodness of your heart. I can bring one boy, can I not?"

"Of course! I was simply asking-"

"And I answered."

Edmure went slightly red. Catelyn knew she'd pricked at his pride once again, by suggesting he was unwilling to give sanctuary to Devan. "I apologise, Cat. Sorry." His words were kind, but his tone held resentment. Catelyn decided another subject change was in order.

"You must be proud of your nephew. The men tell me Robb's victory at Oxcross was nothing short of strategic brilliance." She forced herself to smile as she said it. "The way they talk about him, you'd think he was Aegon the Conqueror come again."

"Yes, King Robb is an excellent commander," her brother responded, but he did not smile. Indeed, his temper seemed to grow worse. _The wrong thing to say,_ Catelyn realised, but it took her a minute to work out why. _He is jealous. Robb is half his age and better at warfare._

Catelyn was hesitating on the verge of an apology when someone knocked on the door. Edmure immediately diverted all his attention to the visitor. "Enter."

"Good morning, my lord. My lady." Catelyn saw that it was Martyn Rivers, the baseborn son of Lord Walder Frey who Robb had left to command his outriders at Riverrun. "I am sorry to disturb you at this early hour, but I have some urgent news."

"What is it, Martyn? Has Tywin Lannister...?"

"No, my lord. This news is far worse." The man trailed off, seeming reluctant to say anything more.

"Tell me, now." Edmure commanded him.

"I didn't want you to have to hear this from me, my lord," he said hesitantly. "There was a rider in the night, from Roose Bolton. Lord Bolton is marching south on your command, as you know. The rider said that Bolton's men had captured a scout."

"A Lannister scout?"

"No, my lord. This man was in service to Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone." _Runestone. In the Vale. Sworn to the Eyrie. The Arryns._ If she hadn't already been seated, Catelyn Stark would have sat down.

"What did the man have to say?" Edmure asked. Martyn hesitated further before replying, and the silence was deafening.

"The Lady Lysa has wed some Lannister lord and called her banners. The armies of the Vale are joining the war. They say she has declared for Joffrey."

 _Lysa,_ Catelyn Stark thought, her shock immeasurable. Soon would come the grief. _Lysa, what have you done?_


	6. Davos I

 

DAVOS I

 

The wind had been with them all the way from White Harbour, a frigid northern gust that tasted of winter. _Black Bertha_ had been forced to put in at Gulltown for a day while an autumn storm had twisted the Narrow Sea into a furious whirl of water. It was there that Davos Seaworth first heard the rumours, but even now as he approached the port of Dragonstone and saw the shattered remains of King Stannis's fleet, he would not believe them. _Even if some of the ships are lost, it does not mean that he is dead._ Fury _is here, and_ Lord Steffon _, and_ Brightfish _._

They landed, and Davos was the first man off the ship. It was all he could do to stop himself from running to the fortress. He noted with relief that Stannis's new sigil, the crowned stag within the fiery heart, flew above the castle. The rumours were false. Surely, they were. He wanted to believe it. He had to believe it.

And he did, until he was approached by his son Maric as he made his way across the quiet harbour.

"Father!"

"Maric... where is the king?" he asked.

"The king is dead," Maric answered quietly, and Davos saw the truth of it on his face.

A hundred thoughts raced through his head all at once. He wanted to be overwhelmed. He wanted to sit down. "How did this happen?"

"Renly fell upon us at Storm's End. I don't understand it. Dawn was hours away, the negotiations agreed, word reached us that... I don't know. Is Matthos...?"

"He's fine. He was on _Black Bertha_ with me, remember?"

"Of course... of course. Devan... I haven't seen Devan. Well, I saw him. But, after the battle..."

Davos clamped a hand firmly down on his son's shoulder. "You'll be okay. We'll... be okay."

"It was horrible. The battle, I mean. There was no honour, no glory. You could hear the screams from the ship. The noise... Where was the red woman? The power she promised? Stannis should never have... He angered the Seven..."

"Listen, lad. I have to go to the queen. To Selyse. Loyalty to her... To Shireen... Stannis would have wanted his daughter to..." Davos found he wasn't quite sure what Stannis would have wanted. Stannis would have wanted justice to be done, and the law to be maintained. The laws now stated that Renly should be king of Westeros. "Maric, listen to me. I am going to see Selyse. She can't possibly continue Stannis's war without Stannis's men, Stannis's ships, or Stannis. She will bend the knee, choose exile, or she will die. I must find out which she intends. Then, we will get your mother and brothers from Cape Wrath... and..." Davos also found that he had no idea what would come after that. Maric just gave a glum nod.

Davos stepped away from him, brimming with uncertainty. _I will see the Queen. Then I will know what to do._ His hand went instinctively to the little pouch around his neck that held his bones. _I need my luck now, more than ever._ _Gods preserve me._

Maric came with him as he made his way to the great keep, but he kept silent except when he spoke his name to the guards on the gate. They entered the Stone Drum together and began the ascent of the many hundreds of stairs that led to the room of the painted table.

Soon enough, they arrived at their large room was far from full, but the level of chatter was high. He saw Queen Selyse, surrounded by her knights and sworn swords. Davos recognized Ser Godry Farring, Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, Ser Justin Massey, and half a dozen others. Beside the queen stood Ser Axell Florent, her uncle, who was shouting loudly at Ser Clayton Suggs. The young Maester Pylos was also present, and several more knights who had sworn loyalty to Stannis. The sellsail known as the Bastard of Driftmark was reclined on a chair, watching with mild interest. They all surrounded the great table that was intricately carved into a map of the Seven Kingdoms. Davos noted unhappily that the figures representing Stannis's forces had been removed from the table.

As he approached, Selyse Florent's powerful tone cut through the low level of noise to reach him.

"Your coming is late, Onion Knight." As ever, she did not sound pleased to see him.

"Aye, that it is," Davos said with a heavy heart. _I should have been there with him. I could have stopped it. I could have saved him._

"As I was saying," Ser Axell said, looking at Selyse and seeming to forget that Davos was even present. "Reports are still scattered. The king may yet live, or Melisandre at least. There has been no word of her."

"Please, my lord." Maester Pylos said quietly, holding up a letter. "The raven from Storm's End states that Stannis was interred in the tombs of the Baratheons, and that this was witnessed by one hund-"

"A lie, sent by Renly to throw us off. King Stannis is probably just-"

"Oh yes," Aurane Waters commented dryly. "I'm sure he's just hiding in the shadows somewhere."

"King Stannis is dead. If what he said of King Robert's children is true, then Renly is the rightful king." The maester had raised his voice a little.

"If it is true? Do you doubt the word of King Stannis?" he demanded, his face reddening. "Are you a traitor to our cause?"

Pylos's response was cool. "I am a maester, chained and sworn. My loyalties lie with the lord or lady of Dragonstone. But _who is that_? You would say Shireen. King Renly would name another. King Joffrey has already named Petyr Baelish to the title, if the rumours are true. Shall I send a raven to Robb Stark to ask him who he thinks should be lord of Dragonstone? One thing I do happen to know, is that although the lordship is in question, _you_ are no king. You do not tell me who I serve." With that, the young man stormed past Davos and out of the room. Selyse looked annoyed, Axell infuriated. Aurane Waters cackled and stood.

"I think I shall take my leave also, my good lords and ladies. I fear there is little purpose in fighting a dead man's cause." The Bastard of Driftmark gave a low, mocking bow, swished his silvery hair and departed the room.

"Lady Selyse," Davos began in what he hoped would be a diplomatic tone. However, it served to worsen Ser Axell's mood.

"Queen!" he shrieked. "She is a queen, and you will address her as such, smuggler!"

"And my father is a knight," Maric snapped. "You will address him as such, or answer to me." Davos felt a little frustrated, but he knew it was just his son's grief becoming anger. He also felt a tiny bit proud.

"Enough of this," Selyse said. "Uncle, leave us. I will speak with my husband's Onion Knight alone." Ser Axell nodded furiously, and departed. They were not exactly alone, but the Queen's Men seemed too busy arguing amongst themselves to pay attention to the conversation. Davos wasted no time in speaking.

"The reports are true." It was not a question.

She gave a curt nod. "They are, by all accounts."

"Then, we must bend the knee. Shireen's claim to the throne is naught while Renly lives. We have no army. If we surrender, our lives may be spared." _My children's lives. My wife. I care not for myself._

"By Dornish law, Shireen would be Stannis's heir, not Renly." There was a hint of defiance in her tone. Davos wasn't sure why she was bringing this up, so he settled for stating facts.

"We are not in Dorne, my lady. The Dornish have declared for Joffrey."

"Even so, she and Renly are the last two true Baratheons. If he claims the throne, she is rightfully the lady of Storm's End."

"Renly may spare her, but he will not give her that. He will grant the Stormlands to one of his own sons, if he has enough of them. Perhaps he will legitimise Edric Storm-" He cut off. It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. The mention of Robert's baseborn son was more than enough to set Selyse's temper flaring. With good reason, Davos supposed, considering where the boy had been conceived.

"He would not grant the stormlands to that bastard! Storm's End is rightfully Shireen's, and I mean for her to have it!"

"As I said, my lady, Renly would never-"

"I do not mean to bend the knee to Renly."

"Joffrey, then? He would have our heads on spikes the moment he saw us. At least Renly is more like to be merciful."

"No. Not Joffrey."

"Then... who?"

She shook her head by way of answer, almost seeming to smile as she denied him the knowledge. _She means to continue the war,_ Davos realised suddenly, to his great dismay. _But who will we be fighting for this time? And who will we be fighting against?_

Selyse was removing a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolding it. "Incidentally, Ser Davos," she said, quieter than before. "A raven flew in this morning from Riverrun. It was sent by Lady Catelyn Stark. It's for you."

 


	7. Tyrion II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice a slight shift in my writing style for this chapter... do you like it? Maybe? Yes? No? Comment!  
> Do you like the story? Leave kudos! Bookmark!  
> Am I a terrible writer? Comment!  
> I really don't know how much love or hate I deserve. Please tell me! :D

 

TYRION II

 

"She intends to send Tommen away." Lancel was saying, as he sat uneasily on the most uncomfortable chair that the Tower of the Hand had to offer. Tyrion wondered if it was some form of repentance.

"She has only just sent Myrcella away, and you tell me that she is willing to part with Tommen, also?"

"Yes, my lord. Lord Gyles will be leaving the city tomorrow morning, and Tommen will go with him. They intend to darken his hair to disguise him as a page."

"Which of the Kingsguard...?"

"Ser Boros Blount, my lord."

Tyrion leaned back on his sofa, breathing deeply as he considered his cousin's words. The fetid air of King's Landing was peppered with new smells, primarily smoke. The fires from yesterday's riot had been put out, but the stench was clearly going to linger for a few days more. He almost envied his niece Myrcella, on her way to Dorne with the royal fleet. At least she would be getting some fresh air.

"Ser Boros? I envy my nephew his brave protector." Had this been his uncle Gerion, a short session of laughter would have followed this remark, but Lancel simply looked more nervous. Tyrion sighed internally. "Lancel, if you are going to march up here to mine own solar, try to make sure you have something useful to say. My sister is a suspicious woman, don't you know." It was not the case that the information wasn't useful; in fact, Tyrion's overactive mind was already deciding on the best course of action to take. He said this because he much preferred the nervous Lancel to the cocky, swaggering creature he had been before the blackmailing had begun. Regularly criticising his information and subtly reminding him of his dangerous situation would work wonders on keeping him like this.

"O-of course, my lord Tyrion. I apologise."

"I don't need your apologies," Tyrion waved him off, feeling a little frustrated. "Get out of my sight."

After Lancel had scurried off, he summoned Pod, who he instructed to summon Bronn, who he instructed to summon Ser Jacelyn Bywater. He had to see a lot of people, but eventually Ser Jacelyn stood before him.

"Good evening, my lord," the Commander of the City Watch greeted him respectfully, with a bow. The beauty of the day had slowly slid away, and a blanket of grey clouds now covered the sky. _A storm is coming, in more ways than one._

"Evening, Ser Jacelyn. I have an urgent need to speak with you."

"And I you, my lord Tyrion. The scouts bring grave tidings."

"You best tell me first, then."

"As you say, my lord." He hesitated briefly before speaking. "Renly has crossed Blackwater Rush and joined the Gold Road. His foot is eight days from the city, at most."

Tyrion nodded. It was bad, but it was no surprise. Rumours of Renly had been flying this way and that, varying wildly, but most agreed on one very specific detail - that he was close to the city. "If the Gold Road is closed, the city is lost. Our food supply is dwindling, and the only thing coming down the Kingsroad is more hungry peasants. The only way we will survive this is if my father defeats Renly in the field."

Ser Jacelyn nodded grimly. "Does the queen intend to surrender the city?"

Tyrion scoffed at the thought. "Cersei and Joffrey won't surrender until there are nooses around their necks."

"Then, Lord Tywin-"

"My sister seems to think he is riding to our rescue. I do not know what to think."

"Then, we must pray."

"I had no idea you were a godly man, Ser Jacelyn. I want no prayer from you. Only action."

"Oh, aye?"

"Take fifty men to scout the Roseroad."

"Sir... I already gave you reports from the scouts, and-"

"That is what you will APPEAR to do. In truth, you will be watching the Rosby road. Lord Gyles will be leaving the city in a few days time. With him will be my nephew, Prince Tommen, the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. I need you to take him. Do this right and I'll make you a lord."

"A lord, eh? I think I would appreciate that."

"I thought you might, too. Try to do this peacefully if you can. If killing is necessary, I don't want it done in front of Tommen. The boy has a tender heart still."

"Of course, my lord."

"Keep in mind that he may be disguised. Darkened hair, clothes that don't befit his station... but you will know him by his chubby, angelic little face, I'm sure."

"As you say, my lord."

"I'll be calling you that soon enough... if you do this well."

After this, Tyrion found, the time seemed to move by quickly. Word of the enemy's approach ate away at his sense of security and the hours in which they had to prepare the defence seemed to flutter away like feathers in a high wind.

Three hours after seeing Ser Jacelyn, Tyrion awoke from a troubled doze with a sudden realisation that gave him an electric feeling of hope. _Renly has no ships. We hold the Redwyne twins. He cannot cut us off from the sea. He must storm the walls._ He slept soundly for the first time in a while.

The day after, at a meeting of the Smallest Council, Varys informed them of the sophisticated siege equipment that had been built in Highgarden for the very purpose of storming the walls. Tyrion's mood worsened.

Three days after his meeting with Ser Jacelyn, Tyrion visited the halls of the Pyromancers to take stock of the wildfire. They had a decent amount, but not nearly as much as he would have liked.

The day after that, he dispatched his clansmen to raid Renly's baggage train and hinder his scouts. Tyrion was almost sad to see Shagga go, but he knew it was for the best. The tribes of the Vale were not suited to city life.

SIx days after his meeting with Ser Jacelyn, Ser Jacelyn returned to the city. He came to Tyrion quickly - as any man would if he was coming to collect his lordship.

"Prince Tommen is safe, and in my power."

Tyrion was reaching a state of paranoia that was beyond anything he had ever known, and the wording of this alarmed him. _Tommen is in his power. Not mine. I offer him a lordship for my nephew's protection... but what would Renly offer him for the Lannister claimant to the Iron Throne?_

Of course, he granted the lordship as he had promised. Upsetting Jacelyn Bywater was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

On the seventh day, there was a council meeting.

 _One more meeting before the war,_ Tyrion thought as he entered the chambers. _Joy._

"I am afraid there has been no word from the Eyrie," Varys informed them both, as a start. "Our plan to win Lady Arryn's allegiance seems to have failed."

 _Maybe the ravens were lost,_ bu _t more likely Lysa Arryn felt insulted by our offer and threw Littlefinger out of the moon door._ "We cannot expect aid from the Vale," Tyrion said. "We must look to our own defences."

"I agree, dear brother," Cersei replied brusquely. "Close the gates. Lock everything down. Prepare for the siege."

The meeting did not last much longer. They discussed the finer points of the defence. When they concluded, Tyrion felt little except for a dull fury with his sister. It was not a new feeling.

At his request, Varys had smuggled Shae into the Red Keep, disguised as a servant. After the meeting, although he had a lot left to do, Tyrion took refuge into the warmth of her arms. After she had pleasured him, they lay on his bed in the Tower of the Hand. He was quiet, aloof. She stroked his hair and called him her giant. _Giant of Lannister._

She had to leave far too soon.

After that, he had a far less desirable visitor, and his news was of the very worst kind. Ser Meryn Trant was not someone you wanted to see on the best of days. And this was not the best of days. He rose from his bed and allowed the man of the Kingsguard to escort him across the Red Keep. Maegor's Holdfast had a stuffy quality to it these days. Cersei insisted on extra security, which apparently required many of the fresh air sources to be sealed off. Tyrion was taken to his sister's chambers. There, he began to shout.

"You fool! You blind, stupid fool!" Tyrion shouted. "How did you allow this to happen? Seven hells, HOW?!"

"You have no right to speak to me that way," Cersei snapped back. "If anyone is at fault here, it's you! You... You vile little man!"

He struck her across the face. She staggered back, gasping from the pain and shock... but she did not lose a moment. "Guards! Ser Meryn-"

The door opened with a crash, and Cersei's protectors entered the room. Ser Meryn Trant, with his red beard and his white cloak, and Ser Osmund Kettleblack, huge and muscular, looking every inch the sellsword.

"Arrest my brother-" Cersei began to say, but words were lost to her when she saw Ser Osmund sliding his dagger across Ser Meryn's throat. As blood flowed in rivers over the man's white armour, Ser Osmund simply looked at Tyrion.

"I knew purchasing your services was a good investment, Ser Osmund. Speak to Bronn about a little bonus on top of our agreed price." Tyrion was still angry, but the look on Cersei's face gave him a sick sort of pleasure. "But first... confine my sister to a tower cell."

After, he sat on his sister's bed, a bottle of her wine in his hand. Cersei had been dragged kicking and screaming from the room by her own sellswords. _Every moment of pain she receives will be deserved. We had two of Robb Stark's sisters. Even after she lost one, she allowed the other freedom of the castle. The bratwas not properly guarded._

Tyrion began to gold cloaks were out looking for her, but he did not hold much hope. Ser Meryn, whose body had also been dragged from the chamber moments before, had believed that Renly's agents had taken her. As a gift, to secure the northern alliance. All Tyrion knew was that somehow, Sansa Stark was gone. _There isn't nearly enough wine in the world,_ he thought. But there was enough to give him sleep.

Eight days after his first meeting with Ser Jacelyn, Renly Baratheon's forces arrived at King's Landing.


	8. Garlan I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough one. Hope you guys enjoy it! Leave a comment to let me know what you think. :D

GARLAN I

 

The chain of golden hands around Tyrion Lannister's neck glittered in the rays of midday sun that had managed to break through the layers of grey cloud over King's Landing. He was dressed in red and gold finery and mounted on a great destrier that only made him seem smaller. This was undoubtedly not the intended effect.

However, despite appearing from a distance like an ugly child who had stolen his father's horse, Tyrion Lannister held his head high as the gates of the city opened. Ser Garlan Tyrell gave a small smile as he climbed on to his own mount. _He is no coward, I see._

Ser Emmon the Yellow of the Rainbow Guard accompanied him to the meeting place. He wore his gaudy armour and bore aloft the sigil of House Baratheon, yellow cloth fluttering in a cool breeze. A similar figure rode on Tyrion Lannister's right, a broad chested man in pure white plate who carried Joffrey's banner. On his left there was another, a smaller man with dark hair, lightly armoured. Garlan got the strong feeling that this man was the most deadly of the three that House Lannister had sent to the negotiations.

The two parties approached each other in the neutral ground between the siege lines and the city. Ser Emmon immediately began a glaring match with the knight from the Kingsguard, and that made Garlan want to smile again. It was exactly what Loras would have done. The white knight, however, ignored him and spoke loudly for everyone to hear.

"I present Tyrion of House Lannister, Hand of the King."

Garlan nodded politely, and, seeing that Ser Emmon didn't seem likely to show the same level of respect, introduced himself.

"I am Ser Garlan of House Tyrell. I am commanding the siege of King's Landing in the name of King Renly Baratheon."

"A pleasure." Tyrion Lannister responded, although it was clearly anything but. "I had expected to see Lord Renly here himself. Tell me, why does he hide behind you?

"Westeros is a big place, Lord Tyrion," Garlan replied evenly. "I mean you no offence, but you do not pose as much of a threat as some of the other players in this deadly game. King Renly goes where the greatest danger lies, or how can he expect his men to do the same?" He raised his eyebrows slightly, but did not make any remarks about the bravery, or otherwise, of King Joffrey.

Tyrion seemed to pick up on things unsaid, but didn't remark. "I must apologise that my father is also unable to treat with you," he said instead. "He is the true Hand of the King, of course, but he finds himself very busy dealing with the northern rebellion. Although, we expect he will be making his way back down the Kingsroad soon."

 _Let him come_ , Garlan Tyrell thought. _That's where the trap is._ Apparently, though, Tyrion wasn't aware of the latest reports. "Oh? Is that so?" he asked. "The last we heard, Lord Tywin was marching on Riverrun with all his strength."

Tyrion scowled at this, but only briefly. "Perhaps he is. I do not pretend to understand my father's current strategy. I have been rather busy preparing for your little visit."

Garlan allowed himself a smile at this. It was a shame, really. In different circumstances, he thought he would have gotten on rather well with Tyrion Lannister.

"My lord Tyrion," he said. "Can we please turn our attention to the terms of your surrender?"

"Of course, Ser Garlan. What is it you propose?"

"You must surrender the city of King's Landing and the Red Keep to King Renly. King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella and yourself will submit to our custody."

"What will be done with us?"

"I am afraid your nephew Joffrey... will most likely be executed. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen will be held as prisoners to await King Renly's judgement, as will you and your sister. Your father must strike his banners and come to King's Landing to answer for his crimes."

"And what then, Ser Garlan? Will I have to watch my nephews die for the crimes that Stannis Baratheon claimed their mother committed? Or simply because they're a threat to the rule of good King Renly? Prince Tommen is a boy of eight. Do you really expect me to hand him over to you so you can hang him?"

Garlan winced. If he was honest, he didn't know what Renly intended to do with Joffrey's siblings. Must King Renly's reign begin with the massacre of children, as Robert's did?

When he did not answer, Tyrion continued regardless. "I will not see my sister's children suffer and die simply because an arrogant, upjumped little brat named Renly Baratheon thinks he should be king. Therefore, Ser Garlan, you have your answer. I am refuse your terms. To surrender would be to betray my family, and that is something Lannisters just don't do." The dwarf smiled. It was not a smile of joy, or arrogance. It was the smile of a madman. "You should also remember something else about Lannisters. We always pay our debts. Never forget it, Garlan Tyrell."

With that, Tyrion Lannister glanced at his companion, the sellsword in the black mail. "Bronn, it is warm today, isn't it?"

"Aye," the man, apparently Bronn, answered. "The night will be a damn sight warmer, I expect."

"Indeed," Tyrion murmured. "Well, goodbye, Ser Garlan. It was lovely talking with you."

Garlan felt helpless. So, he simply answered politely. "It was." Tyrion Lannister turned his horse and began to ride back towards the city, slowly. _I cannot let it end this way._ He spurred his own horse forward a few paces. "Wait, my lord! Please!"

"What is it, enemy?" Tyrion asked dryly, turning his head.

"You cannot possibly hold the city if I command the attack," Garlan told him, almost pleading him to see reason. "Surrender. Surrender, and I swear on my honour, on my life _,_ on the lives of my family, that I will do all in my power to see that Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella are spared."

"No need to beg me, Ser Garlan," he answered. "It won't get you to many places..." With that, Tyrion Lannister kicked his destrier into a trot. The sellsword Bronn and the silent knight in the white cloak followed, and Garlan was left alone with Emmon Cuy.

"Ser Garlan..." he began. He had not interrupted the negotiations, out of respect for King Renly's command. Now, however, his superior nature was going to come out. Garlan decided to cut it off.

"Leave it, Ser Emmon. We will discuss this with the other lords."

Ser Emmon looked like he wanted to press the issue, but something made him think better of it. The pair of them proceeded to the command tent, a large pavilion that had been King Renly's on the march from Highgarden. Renly would be sleeping in far more modest accommodations on the Kingsroad, but that would only serve to enhance his charm. A king who was willing to sacrifice his comforts when necessary was a good king. His men would love him even more for it.

The command tent was not heavily populated. Lady Arwyn Oakheart was present, Lord Eldon Estermont, and Lord Randyll Tarly, who Renly had ordered to assist Garlan in planning the siege. _Lord Tarly thinks he should have the command here, and I agree,_ Garlan thought, not for the first time. _Why did Renly choose me? Was he simply trying to please my father?_

Also there were two faces Garlan was considerably more pleased to see. One was his uncle Ser Humfrey Hightower, his mother's brother, who was with Renly's men to represent Garlan's grandfather, Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The other was his own little sister, Margaery of the House Tyrell, now wife of King Renly. She returned the warm smile he gave her, but Ser Humfrey was all business.

"Ships!" he announced loudly, when Garlan had barely set foot into the tent. "We have ships!"

"Excuse me, uncle?" Garlan asked politely.

"We will surely find victory here, nephew, for King Renly has his fleet." The words tumbled from Ser Humfrey's mouth like rocks down a mountain slope, but Garlan knew the truth of them when Randyll Tarly gave a curt nod.

"Where did these ships come from?" he asked. "And, more importantly, where are they now?"

"They are in Blackwater Bay, blockading King's Landing from the sea," Ser Humfrey said.

Garlan raised his eyebrows. _Useful. A little too convenient, almost._ "Where do they come from? Whose ships are they?"

The knight was about to answer when Margaery stepped forward, putting her hand on his arm and speaking for him. "They belonged to Lord Stannis, brother. I spoke personally with their representatives who came ashore, and they now swear loyalty to King Renly, and to us. There are thirteen."

"Indeed," Lord Estermont murmured. "They have had skirmishes with the Royal Fleet already, which have mostly been successful. The Lannisters cannot leave King's Landing."

"Unless they break through our naval blockade," Randyll Tarly growled, stroking his bristly grey beard. "Or our naval blockade ceases to be our naval blockade. I don't trust the traitors."

"You spoke with Lord Tyrion, did you not?" This question came from Lady Oakheart, a tiny woman past her childbearing years, but still a clear presence in the command tent who had little trouble making herself heard. "Tell us of the negotiations."

"The negotiations failed." _I failed._ "They will not surrender the city."

No more needed to be said, and the silence was deafening. Lord Estermont was the first to break it, saying, "We must hold them in, then. They cannot keep the city while the people starve."

"We cannot hold them in." This came from Lord Tarly. "We must assault the walls. Take the city by force. If we do, the people will rise for us."

"Aye!" Emmon Cuy shouted. Garlan was startled, but was careful not to let it show. He had quite forgotten that Ser Emmon was there at all.

"What do you think, my queen?" Lady Oakheart asked.

Margaery gave her typical answer. "I do not know much of warfare, my lady. I must leave these decisions to wise men such as my brother and husband."

Garlan raised an eyebrow at his sister, but she didn't acknowledge him. They both knew she knew a little more of warfare than she let on, and Galan found it highly unlikely that she didn't have an opinion about the choice he should make, now.

"The siege will work. They will surrender." Eldon Estermont was saying. "If we attack, thousands will die."

"If we do not attack," Randyll Tarly countered, "They will break through the blockade of ships, or Stannis's men will piss off back to Dragonstone like the cowards they are. I saw their 'representatives' for myself. Fools, the lot of them, and traitors too. They cannot be trusted." Ser Humfrey Hightower nodded.

"I agree," Lady Oakheart said thoughtfully, "With Lord Tarly. We all knew this war wouldn't be won without bloodshed. Regrettable as it is, we should not allow the people of King's Landing to suffer under Joffrey any longer. The stories we heard on the Goldroad, Ser Garlan, do I even need to remind you...?"

Silence fell once more. They had all said what they needed to say, apparently, and now they turned to him, Ser Garlan Tyrell, the man acting as their commander, for the verdict. Fight or wait?

Lord Eldon Estermont looked at him imploringly, his ancient eyes filled with the emotions of a man who had lived a very long time and seen a lot of people die. Lord Tarly, in direct contrast, was giving Ser Garlan the steely glare of a man who knew what needed to be done, and didn't care who had to suffer for it. Lady Oakheart was staring at the floor, her expression suggesting ponderous regret. _Her son is in the city, serving in Joffrey's Kingsguard. Of course she has doubts._ Margaery kept her own expression carefully blank, but she was clearly expecting a decision.

Ser Garlan the Gallant thought for no more than fourteen seconds, and then made the choice. "Make all the arrangements, Lord Tarly. We attack at sunset."

He turned and strode from the tent, not caring to face the walked, then, among the mass of tents that served the fifty thousand men of the Reach and Stormlands who had flocked to Highgarden to to honour their vows to the Houses Baratheon and Tyrell. And as he walked, Garlan considered fully the reasons behind what he had done. _Thousands will die. Men, women, children, warriors from both sides. It will be my fault. Grieving families will blame me. However, it must be done. If Joffrey escapes, the war will continue. The city must fall, tonight. The last time King's Landing was sacked, Tywin Lannister's army was responsible. He bore the weight of the resentment, and it troubled him little. What do the opinions of the King's Landing peasantry matter to the Lord of Casterly Rock? Meanwhile, Robert Baratheon seized the throne with almost no innocent blood on his hands. I must do the same for Renly. I must order the assault. I must bare the weight of their hatred, so he does not have to. And when my men present me with the severed head of Tommen Lannister, a boy of eight, guilty of nothing except being born into the wrong family, I must..._

He wanted to sit down, curl up. He felt sick, worse than he could ever remember suffering from an illness. _I must be strong. Any and all blame for the deaths that will happen tonight must fall on me. I must be strong, for my family. For the people of Westeros. This war must be ended._

The next five hours were a flurry of activity as the camp came to life. Units were organised, siege weapons made ready. In the command tent, Randyll Tarly planned every last detail of the assault, aided by Garlan and Emmon Cuy and Eldon Estermont. Riders were dispatched to Renly on the Kingsroad, where he awaited the attempted return of Tywin Lannister's forces to King's Landing.

At some point in the chaos, Garlan took the time to consider the scout's reports from other parts of the realm. The lords of the Dornish Marches had sent word that Doran Martell had called his banners, but little more. There was apparently no sign of military activity in the Boneway or the Prince's Pass, nor any formal declaration for Joffrey. Elsewhere, Robb Stark continued to ravage the Westerlands, while the larger part of the northern host had left the Twins. _Are they marching to aid Riverrun? Or somewhere else?_ That was a slightly worrying prospect. If Roose Bolton had decided that an alliance with the Stormlands was not in Robb Stark's best interests, King Renly's position might have become more vulnerable. Otherwise, there seemed to be nothing else to think about for the time being.

The only other thing of note Ser Garlan did while the preparations were being made was to meet with the captains of Stannis Baratheon's former fleet. Their stories appeared to be true. They had returned to Dragonstone to find that Selyse Florent, Stannis's widow, was not in the best of moods. She had forbidden them from leaving again, but they did it anyway and then decided to throw in their lot with the king who had the best chance of victory. Lord Tarly was right; they could hardly be trusted. But, for now, they would have to serve.

At nightfall, as ordered, the army was assembled. And, as their commander, Garlan rode through their ranks to make sure that everything was in place. The sounds of the camp and the sounds of the city had quietened. King's Landing had also been a hive of activity throughout the day, but now an uneasy hush rested across the world for miles around. _All of Westeros waits to see what happens here tonight. If we lose, it will be a disaster. Better not to lose._

After that, he made a speech to the front lines. He had never done this before, but understood the general principles involved. Get the men ready to kill and to die. Excite them. Inspire them. And he did just that, and they roared their approval, their compliance. They would kill, and they would die. They would do it because he asked them to. _Come the dawn, how many will wish they hadn't? Come the dawn, how many of them will be alive to wish anything at all?_

After that, there was no more delaying of the inevitable. The warhorns sounded. And for the men of the Reach and the men of the Stormlands, Renly's men, the knights of summer, the war truly began.

Garlan had dismounted, of course. It wasn't good tactics to charge at a city wall while atop a horse. He led a group of around sixty men, including those specifically assigned to be his

protectors, and they were all men he knew to some degree, knights from Highgarden and elsewhere in the Reach. His vision was restricted slightly by his helmet, and their faces were hidden by theirs, but it didn't change much. He knew who they were from the arms they bore, and they knew him by his shield, which was Tyrell green with the two golden roses that denoted his status as second son to Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden. It came into use quite early in the battle, when Ser Garlan rose it to protect himself from the first barrage of arrows from the walls of King's Landing. The silence had been completely shattered. Now, all that could be heard was a cacophony of battle. Boulders were being flung into the city by Tyrell catapults. Ladders were being rushed towards the walls, now, and Garlan had a feeling that Randyll Tarly would be one of the first men to climb them. He had last seen the older man standing at the head of a larger unit of soldiers, Valyrian steel greatsword in hand, yelling orders at just about everyone.

He heard shouts, screams, the clash of weapons, but it was hard to tell from that what was going on. It sounded as if, from some of the actual information that was travelling about, that a ram had reached the Gate of the Gods. And now, as his party approached the Lion Gate, he heard the sounds of another ram being used there. All as planned. And then, something strange began to happen.

There were cracking sounds as objects were launched over the walls. Squinting through the gathering darkness, he tried to make out what they were. They appeared to be small stones, maybe? But why were they cracking? They seemed to be made of clay. He ran on, straight past one. It didn't look very important.

Then he saw that it contained some kind of substance. He kept running, but something that had been said earlier was tugging at the back of his mind.

 _Something from the negotiations. Something_ he _said, the man Bronn. The dangerous one._

Garlan Tyrell looked up. He heard it all clearly in his mind. Tyrion Lannister had said, "Bronn, it is warm today, isn't it?"

And Bronn had responded, "The night will be a damn sight warmer, I expect."

He had looked up, and seen the curtain of burning arrows rising from the walls and falling almost gently downwards towards him and his men. Suddenly, everything became perfectly clear.

He shouted, he screamed, adding his own voice to the ever growing chorus that rang through the dusk. But it was too late, and he knew it was too late, and then the world exploded with green fire.


	9. Cersei I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've had exams. Enjoy!

 

CERSEI I

 

The clang of bells woke her from an uneasy sleep, and she knew that it had begun.

Her room, her _cell,_ was small and offered little in the way of comfort. It had bare walls and a stone floor, a thin for sleeping on, a chamber pot, a tray of untouched food. There was no window. There were blankets, at first, but she had torn them up. The shredded pieces were scattered here and there. This was no fit accommodation for a queen.

Cersei's anger had been immeasurable on the first day of her imprisonment. She had screamed and shouted and cursed them all, one by one. Osmund Kettleblack, who had dragged her to this hell. Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark. And, most of all, she screamed her brother Tyrion's name amidst a thousand threats and the foulest words in every language she knew. After that, she had curled up on the floor and wept.

Now, as the bells rang out over the city, she picked up the tray of food and threw it against the wall with a desperate, enraged shriek _._

It was dark. The cell was illuminated only by torchlight from the corridor which shone in through a large steel grate in the door, a constant, flickering orange glow that she despised. She had no idea what time of day it was, but she assumed it was early evening. Was Renly assaulting the walls? Had Joffrey gone out to fight?

A sudden cold feeling swept through her. _Tyrion has Tommen. If Tyrion makes sure Joffrey doesn't come back from the battle, he will have control of the king._ And, just like that, every detail of her brother's plan became clear to her through paranoia.

She began to scream again, banging her fists on the door until they started to crack and bleed. Her beautiful golden hair was already dirty and tangled, and tears of fury and despair were forming in her eyes. _He struck me._ _That arrogant, filthy, evil little man! How DARE he? How dare father appoint him as Hand of the King? I'll have his head. I'll have it on a SPIKE._

Eventually, she collapsed backwards onto the floor, struggling for breath. She heard sounds, but couldn't quite place them. Some were rocks, perhaps, smashing against the keep. Tyrell siege weapons. Others… was that a gate being smashed down? She didn't know. _Perhaps Tyrion is dying somewhere,_ she thought, and while it did not cheer her, it allowed her to think a little more clearly. _I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here and find Joffrey._ She looked around, looking for something. Anything she hadn't noticed. _There is nothing. I will die here, and Joffrey will die because of it._

She had already considered the possibility of rescue. With Ser Meryn dead, however, the only member of the Kingsguard remaining who was loyal to her was Ser Mandon, and he had not come. _If Jaime were here… if only. He'd cut the head of that filthy little dwarf. My_ valonqar _. And let him rot._

Her eyes snapped open. _I must not think of her now. The witch's words mean nothing._

Another tear formed at the corner of Cersei's eye, and there was another crash of a flung rock upon the walls of King's Landing, barely audible. _Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds._

Not for the first time, and not for the last, she wept.

Time dragged slowly onward. Cersei had no way to know how much of it was passing, but she was desperately aware of how fast things might be changing. It sounded like Renly Baratheon was storming the city. If his host was as great as the reports said, there was no hope. _Unless Father comes. He wouldn't abandon us._ She sat up, brushing dust off her dress. _And where in the seven hells is Littlefinger? He was supposed to marry Lysa Arryn and bring the army of the Vale. That traitorous cunt is probably swanning about the Eyrie, fucking the fat bitch and telling stories of treason and murder to her sickly little brat._ Cersei gave a short, wild laugh; the thought of Lysa Arryn tended to have that affect. She could hardly believe that once upon a time, Jaime had been betrothed to the stupid, crazy cow. _Lysa Arryn is ugly and insane, while my Jaime is flawless._ The idea that Lord Tywin had thought her to be worthy of Jaime made Cersei laugh again, harder.

And then, she heard something. Something new, something closer than the muffled sounds of battle and the urgent clanging of those infernal bells. There were footsteps, echoing on the stone staircase outside her chamber, approaching her with a sense of general urgency. Smiling a little still, Cersei rose to her feet, pushing back her tangled golden curls. _Better make myself look presentable for my guest,_ she thought, and laughed just a little more.

Her guest turned out to be Lancel, and he looked almost as bad as she did. He was armoured in steel plate that seemed to have lost its shine quite quickly. There was a dent in the shoulder, and, near his left elbow, a seemingly pointless slither of metal hung off. A crimson cloak was draped over his shoulders, but in several places there were large rips and holes. His pale skin was black with soot and he walked with a slight limp. He smelt of blood, sweat and smoke. In one hand, he held a sword, Cersei saw through the bars on the door. And in the other, more importantly, he had a thick brass key.

"My queen. Cersei. Are you okay? This room… your brother, how dare he-"

"Spare me, Lancel. What of the battle?"

"The traitor Renly has breached the King's Gate and the Gate of the Gods… There is fighting on the walls and the River Row. Your brother was with Ser Balon and King Joffrey at the Gate of the Gods when it fell to Renly's van. He has suffered heavy losses and they've fallen back to Cobblers Square. That was when I left them."

"You were with Joffrey in the heat of battle, and you left him? You left him with TYRION?!"

"I didn't mean, I thought-"

"You thought WRONG!" Cersei shrieked in response, her hand rushing up to meet his face, but Lancel flailed his arm in a weak form of defence, and her hand met with his steel. She reeled back, her hand suddenly stinging rather badly.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"We have to go," Cersei told him. _We must find Joffrey and Tommen and escape the city. We must go to father. Then we can take King's Landing and the Dornish will storm the Stormlands and we'll send Baelish and the armies of the Vale to deal with those pathetic northerners. And then we shall rule, as it should be._ "The city will fall, but we must get Joffrey out. We must go to Tommen at Rosby with Ser Boros…" she trailed off, because Lancel had gone the colour of off milk. His mouth was slightly open and a small whimper escaped.

"What is it, Lancel?" she asked, beginning to feel frustrated with her cousin's weakness. _He is no Jaime, just a pale, gibbering replacement._

"Tyrion… he… his men have captured Tommen, Your Grace," Lancel stammered. "Ser Boros surrendered him freely."

"Where is he?!"

"He was in Cobbler's Square with Ser Balon and-"

"Not Tyrion, you fool! Tommen! WHERE IS MY SON?!"

"I-I don't… I don't know," Lancel admitted. Cersei began to show teeth.

"How did this HAPPEN? How did Tyrion know that Lord Gyles…"

"I-I… Tyrion, he, I-I told him that…"

"You told him? YOU?!"

"No, n-no, I would never, I would never betray your trust, I would-"

Cersei let out an inhuman cry, slamming forward into Lancel with all the force she could muster. He staggered backwards, a look of surprise and horror etched on his features. There was a moment when time seemed to stop and he simply hung there, staring at her with haunted eyes. And then he began to fall backwards down the stairs, his armour and weapon clanking and his screams echoing around the Red Keep. Cersei was already moving when she heard the crack of his neck snapping as he hit a wall below. There was no time to hesitate.

She knew she had to run, if she was going to get to Joffrey in time to save him from her brother's malice, but she paused as she past her cousin's corpse. _He was Lannister,_ was her first thought. _I shouldn't have done this._ It was followed quickly by another thought. _Tyrion is also a Lannister, and I will show him no mercy. Why should Lancel deserve even a single thought? He and that disgusting imp plotted to steal Tommen from me. He was no true Lannister. He was no Jaime._

She bent down, her mind already distancing herself from Lancel. He was a fool and a traitor who had aided Tyrion in kidnapping Tommen. He was not her cousin, her lover, her confidant. He was a corpse. But he did have something of value.

Cersei Lannister had sometimes thought that she should have been born a man. Now, she knew she was wrong. Men were weak and stupid, except for Jaime and her father and her sweet little Joffrey. When she placed her thin, paled fingers on the hilt and felt a sudden rush of power, she knew something else. _Women should wield the swords, and men wear the skirts._

She advanced into the Red Keep, her cousin's sword in her hand, her cousin lying dead behind her.

 _I must gather the last men loyal to me. Ser Mandon Moore. Pycelle._ And there, she ran out of names. The list of traitors was far longer. _Even if the city falls, the Red Keep will hold for a time. Perhaps long enough for us to escape._

As if summoned by her own desires, Pycelle was the first person she met in the halls. She saw his slow moving form approaching long before he noticed her. The former Grand Maester jumped when she stepped out of the shadows, her hair wild and the sword gleaming in the torchlight. _If I'd wanted him dead, he would be dead. I am a lion on the hunt, tonight._

"Your Grace! Thank the gods you're alright. You must come at once!"

"What is it, Pycelle?"

"Your brother Tyrion. He is… we believe him to be dead, Your Grace."

 _Good. I'm glad. I truly am. Let him rot._ Her face did not show triumph. "Where is the king?"

Pycelle hesitated before answering, and Cersei almost killed him then and there. The ancient old man raised his hand, backing away from her. "King Joffrey… King Joffrey suffered an arrow wound in the battle. He has been bought back to the Great Hall. You must come to him, quickly."

The sword dropped to the floor, and she was running. All else was forgotten; Tyrion, Lancel, Pycelle, Renly. None of them mattered. Even Jaime left her thoughts. Joffrey was the only person she wanted.

She did not stop until she saw him, her little boy, lying before the Iron Throne. Four goldcloaks surrounded him, armed with spears. _Where are the Kingsguard?_ Letting out a yell, she ran to him, clasping his hand, his hand…

 _The city is lost._ The idea came to her from nowhere, but she instantly felt the weight of the truth in those four simple words. _We are lost._

Joffrey Baratheon was lying on a white sheet, still clad in his golden armour. The crown had toppled from his head, or been removed, and was placed next to him. His wound, in his abdomen, had been wrapped with cloth. His eyes were closed, his breathing soft. She wanted to cry, but there was no time for that. _There are things to be done. Renly will take the city. He will kill my son. Slowly and painfully or quickly and cleanly, I don't know. But it will be publicly, to avoid rumours of his survival._

She dismissed the goldcloaks, and they left without a fuss. Perhaps Tyrion really was dead, but she knew they had not gone far. After this, she looked around. The sword she had taken from Lancel she had already lost, although she wasn't even sure she remembered where. Joffrey's weapons were also gone, it seemed, but she saw a collection of bottles and small bags of powder; Pycelle's medicines. She saw the Milk of the Poppy, almost empty, and knew it was why her son slept. There would be no way to wake him, even if she wanted to. It was doubtful that he would be able to move, even if she did. _The city is lost. He is lost._

_He is lost, but I am not. I must live. I must live, for Tommen, for Myrcella, for Jaime. We came into this world together, we will leave it together._

She picked up a bottle, reading the label to make sure she had the right one and popping out the cork. Her shaking hands opened her son's mouth and she poured the contents in, not missing a drop, before tipping his head forward so the liquid would run down his throat.

She listened as the poison took affect. _He was a true Lannister. He was my perfect little boy._ She moved as if in a dream, except it was no dream but a nightmare, a nightmare of the worst and darkest kind. His breathing stopped. _And gold their shrouds._

Pycelle found her shortly after, just as Renly's men were beginning to enter the Red Keep, the battle all but over. She was sitting on the Iron Throne with her dead son at her feet and his crown in her lap, drowning in tears.


	10. Catelyn III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do enjoy, and please accept my most sincere apologies for the long waits. Let me know what you thought of this chapter!

 

CATELYN III

 

Not for the first time in the war, and not, she suspected, for the last, the dark wings of the ravens bore dark words to Riverrun. This time, however, had been different. This time, it had been received by cheers.

Maester Vyman had handed the letter to Edmure, as they had broken their fast together in Riverrun's great hall along with the lords of the Riverlands. Catelyn had been eating quietly, still distanced from her brother. The news that had been brought of Lysa had served only to widen the growing rift between them. Edmure had acted as if it was of no importance, but Catelyn had known him since the day he was born. She knew when he was in pain. He had become withdrawn, preferring the company of whores over most, even his close friends. _Can I blame him?_ Catelyn had thought at the time. _His father no longer knows him. His sister's army is marching to war against him. His nephew and uncle are finding glory and victory in the west while he has to sit idly by and wait for Tywin Lannister to get here, and all the while I am chipping away his pride little by little, without even meaning to._

But when he had finished the letter, Edmure stood. The hall fell silent. Catelyn had seen Maester Vyman looking directly at her for a moment, before turning and leaving swiftly.

Edmure spoke. His voice was hoarse, his hair unkempt, but she had seen a fire in his eyes. A look of triumph. "My lords and ladies of the Riverlands and the North," he began, and his tone had grown louder with every word. "King's Landing has been sacked by Renly Baratheon."

There had been a stunned silence, before the shouts of joy had erupted from all corners of the room. Catelyn hadn't been able to bear it. She had left moments after for the sept, and had spent what felt like several hours at prayer. Her words to the gods had become simpler, these days. Often, she found herself simply repeating a list of names in a whisper, the occasional tear rolling down her cheeks. "Robb, Bran, Sansa, Rickon, Arya, Edmure, Lysa."

When Edmure found her, she was holding her head in her hands; not weeping outwardly, but very, very tired. He sat down quietly next to her on the bench at the front of the sept, not speaking or reaching out to her, but she knew it was him without even looking. _For who else would sit next to me, like this? I do not deserve such a goodhearted brother._

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, she leaned back in her chair, straightening up and looking directly at him.

"Cat…" he began, and she smelt the wine on his breath. _Of course. He must have drunk a dozen toasts to Renly's victory. How could he not?_

"Edmure, please, just…" She had tried to sound stronger than she felt, and failed miserably.

"Cat… this is a big change for us. Our strategic position is-"

"I don't CARE about your strategy, Edmure!" She snapped, and the tears began to flow, her face distorting with emotional agony. "Sansa and Arya were in King's Landing. You _know_ that. And now… and now…"

"Renly would never harm the girls," Edmure said quietly. "They're his only hope of a northern alliance."

"A northern alliance?" Catelyn asked, placing her hand on Edmure's chest, her expression wild. "There will be no _alliance._ Not unless Robb gives up his crown… and he can't… he mustn't… and Renly cannot control every man in the battle… you know what men are like, Edmure! If they found… my sweet Sansa… Arya…" And then she was weeping into his chest and his arm was around her. If he could think of any comfort to give, Edmure did not offer it. He simply held her for a time, until she pushed away from him and wiped the last of her tears from her eyes.

"Cat…" he said, then. "I need you."

"Need me?" She asked, her voice sounding cracked and weak. Her eyes were red and her brow furrowed, and it all gave off the impression that she was much older that she actually was. She felt much older, too.

"Tywin Lannister is three days from here," he said. "He may not have heard, yet, of King's Landing's fall. His daughter and grandchildren are likely dead. Even with… Even with the Vale, the Lannisters cannot hope to continue this war. Robb commands near to thirty thousand men, between the force with Roose Bolton and my… and Father's bannermen. You tell us that Renly has fifty thousand foot alone. The jaws are closing. Lord Tywin may wish to negotiate, when he learns of his grandson's defeat."

"…Negotiate?"

"I want you to come with me. I need you to come with me."

"No. I can't… I'm not… I have failed my son, I cannot…"

"Robb trusts you. You're his mother. He loves you, and you did not fail him. Nor will you."

"Edmure, I can't. I can't." She tried to move away from him, but he reached out and touched her hand. She stopped.

"You can. You can do it. You can be strong for me. Just for a little longer. If this goes well, the war will be over. I have already sent a raven to King Robb in the west, and I expect he will be returning as soon as he can. You could go home, Cat."

_Home. Winterfell. Bran and Rickon._ She looked at her brother once more, and knew just how sincere he was about this. Not a hint of his usual arrogance and pride could be seen in his Tully blue eyes. She had never seen him like this before.

"Please, Cat," Edmure said, taking her hands in his. "I need you. We are the children of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, and together we will leave our home under a banner of peace. We will confront Tywin Lannister face to face, and make him answer for the evils he has committed in our lands, to our families. Together, we shall end the war."

One final tear trickled down her cheek, and then she was hugging him fiercely. _Oh, Edmure. I have truly missed you, all these years._ "Of course. Of course, I will."

For the first time since she had arrived at Riverrun, the visited their father together. Their farewell was brief but emotional, as neither of them knew if Hoster Tully would still live when they returned. _If we return._

They separated to carry out their next tasks. Edmure called the riverlords together once more in the great hall to give the marching orders, while Catelyn visited her young ward.

Devan was reading when she found him, a simple-looking tome that Vyman must have lent to him. He jumped when she entered, and then looked slightly sheepish.

"Lady Stark. I apologise, I-"

"There is no need, Devan," she cut him off quickly. "Now, listen to me closely. I am leaving the castle. My brother Edmure is coming with me, along with his army. We are going to negotiate… with Tywin Lannister." She ignored his obvious surprise and continued. "I do not believe it will come to battle, but I am leaving you here at Riverrun, to be safe. You will be well looked after, I'll see to it myself, and I will return as soon as I can."

"B-but… what if you don't come back? Or…"

"I will be coming back. I swear it. I am not riding to battle."

"No, my lady, but you are riding to war."

There was little else to be said. She reminded him quietly about the danger he had put himself in by bringing Lightbringer from Storm's End, and told him once again to keep it a secret from all. _Renly Baratheon is King of Westeros by now, and I am personally putting his relationship with the North in jeopardy._

She went next to her own chambers, to prepare a few things for the journey. It was here she began to have the doubts. _Tywin Lannister may not be ready to sue for peace. If the armies of the Vale have truly joined him, his position remains strong… but without Joffrey or Tommen, the Lannister claim to the Iron Throne is at an end. He cannot mean to continue the war, can he? But will he bend the knee to Renly? Or declare independence, as Robb has?_ She found she had no answers to her own questions, so she pushed all doubt to the back of her mind.

After that, all was prepared. Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard was the first to depart Riverrun, at the head of the Tully van. Edmure had named Ser Desmond Grell castellan of Riverrun and left him one thousand men to hold the castle. The rest marched with them. Edmure had no intention of facing Tywin Lannister without an army at his back.

It was barely a day of travel before they heard from the outriders that Lord Tywin was near. There had initially been some minor conflict between the outlying soldiers, but the word that the Lord of Riverrun wanted to negotiate with the Lord of Casterly Rock was carried by the men of the rivers to the men of the west. After that, Edmure sent envoys, and Tywin Lannister sent his own in return. Details were worked out. A meeting place decided. A time specified. And, all too soon, there was nothing further to be done except negotiate.

The morning of their third day out of the castle dawned gloomy and grey, with a light drizzle falling gently on their encampment. Catelyn Stark broke her fast on simple bread and dried meat, with water. Edmure had ordered that they only bring minimal supplies, in case Riverrun should come under siege while they were away. _How long does he expect us to be away for,_ she had wondered when she heard this. It was one doubt among many when it came to Edmure's grand plan, and there had been no word from the west. She had little choice but to continue to support him. _But what would Robb want me to do?_

She left her tent and wandered among the men. There was a definite tension in the air – they knew that if the negotiations went badly, they would likely be faced with open battle. Several bowed respectfully to her as she passed, but more ignored her and continued with their morning tasks of saddling horses, or cleaning armour, or sharpening swords. She saw a heavily guarded stockade, and remembered the prisoners.

There were two; tokens for Edmure to barter with, little more than that. One was Willem Lannister, the other Tion Frey. They were both nephews of Lord Tywin, and both no more than fourteen years old. They were not the most valuable prisoners, though, and everyone knew it. The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, remained in his cell at Riverrun. After his attempted escape, Edmure refused to risk bringing him so close to his father. Her brother intended to return Willem and Tion as a symbol of his good intentions towards the Westerlands, but Jaime would be going nowhere. She knew Robb would have thought it wise. _But would he think this whole plan wise? What if Joffrey or Tommen still lives? Lord Tywin will never surrender._

She made her way back to her tent to prepare herself.

First, she donned the simple travel gown she had worn to the negotiation between Renly and Stannis. After, she said her prayers. _Let this go better than the last. Let us make a peace the Baratheon brothers could not._ And then, it was time.

Catelyn mounted her horse, a bay palfrey with a quiet temperament that she appreciated. Some of the horses in her father's stables were overly fond of biting. Although she had been riding for as long as she could remember, it was still far easier to handle steeds who wanted to be handled.

Edmure approached her, atop a great courser trained for war. He was clad finely in shining steel plate, with a dark blue surcoat that bore the arms of House Tully. His shield also displayed the Tully sigil, and his cloak was half red, half blue with a silver trout as the clasp. He had shaved his fierce beard and his auburn hair was neatly brushed. Catelyn had to admit that he looked capable and strong, an opinion she had not truly held until now.

"Lady Stark," he greeted her with a smile.

"Lord Tully," she replied, and couldn't help but smile back.

"Are you ready, Cat?" he asked her, his eyes becoming more serious.

"I am as ready as I ever will be."

"Then, let's do it."

The final leg of the march was short, but the wooded terrain made things more difficult. After what felt like barely an hour, however, Edmure called the halt and ordered lines of defence to be set up. After that, he sent a scout a little further up the beaten track they had recently joined to report on the situation. Catelyn saw them exchange words, and then Edmure rode towards her.

"Are they here?" she asked, keeping her breathing steady.

"They're here," he said, and she caught a hint of apprehension his tone.

They were joined by Marq Piper, and a pair of guards whose names she did not know. Together, they rode in a line along the wooded track. It was surprisingly peaceful, Catelyn found. She could hear the bustle of the camp and the sound of ever flowing river. There was a sharp gust of wind and she looked upwards to see autumnal leaves dancing in the air as they fell from the trees. There were reds, oranges, yellows, browns, all whirling over a backdrop of shadowy branches under the bright grey sky. The smells were of men and horses, but also of herbs, flowers and the fresh fragrance that always seemed to come from the rain itself. Catelyn was momentarily taken aback by the sheer beauty of the world.

And then they crested a ridge where the beaten track fell away down a sparsely wooded slope to the edge of the Red Fork, and she saw the Lannister host lined up across the fields ahead of them.

_We cannot win._ The sheer number of men struck her hard, and she swayed dangerously in the saddle.

"Yes…" Edmure said. "Right. Sound our arrival, then."

The guardsman she did not know raised a warhorn to his mouth and blew. There were several moments of silence, and then the men of the west answered the call. Catelyn saw a mounted party of five emerging from the front lines.

"There they are," Marq Piper said. Catelyn felt strangely calm, all of a sudden. She had been overwhelmed at first, by the sheer size of Tywin Lannister's army, and it was certainly vast. However, she now saw that it didn't seem to be much larger than the northern force that had marched from Winterfell under Robb. _Perhaps we do have a chance._

Edmure spurred his horse onwards, and Catelyn quickly made haste to follow him. She saw them coming closer, slowly and cautiously. She saw them enter the ford in the river which would serve as their meeting place. The man leading them, she saw, was clad entirely in deep crimson armour trimmed with gold. _So this is Tywin Lannister, the man who has caused my family so much grief. Let us see what he has to say when he hears of his own family's suffering._

They entered the ford, her horse neighing in protest of having to stand in the cold, running water. She saw that Lord Tywin had also brought two guards with him, and there were two other men. One of them, a tall, slim man with shoulder length copper hair, spoke up.

"Presenting Tywin of the House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West." At this, Tywin Lannister removed his helmet.

He was shorter than Catelyn had imagined, and appeared to be slightly plump, although it was hard to tell through the armour. He had short blond hair and a closely cropped beard, and his narrow green eyes were fixed on Edmure.

"My name is Ser Addam Marbrand," the first speaker continued. "Heir to Lord Damon Marbrand of Ashemark. This is Leo Lefford, Lord of the Golden Tooth."

There was a short pause, and then Marq Piper responded in kind. "Presenting Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun," he said with relish. "Here to negotiate on the behalf of King Robb Stark of Winterfell, who some men call the Young Wolf."

"Lord Tywin." Edmure said. "King's Landing has fallen to Renly Baratheon."

Tywin's reply was simple, pragmatic, but Catelyn thought she saw sadness in his eyes as he spoke the words. "I am aware. What of it?"

"Your daughter and grandchildren are dead. The Lannister claim to the Iron Throne is at an end. It is time for you to end this war, before it is too late." Edmure's tone was sincere, imploring.

"And I suppose you have terms for me, do you?" Tywin responded.

"All Lannister soldiers will lay down arms immediately and return to the Westerlands." Edmure began. He had been practicing for this moment all the way from Riverrun, and his confidence showed it. "All castles and towns under Lannister control, including Harrenhal, will be returned to their rightful owners. All prisoners loyal to the King in the North will be released and adequately compensated for their time in captivity. Furthermore, House Lannister will provide House Tully with no less than one million gold dragons, so that we might use them to repair the damage done to the towns and countryside of the Riverlands."

If Tywin Lannister was insulted or outraged by these demands, it did not show. Instead, he answered briefly and almost… uncaringly. "And if we disagree with these terms, Ser Edmure?"

"The war will continue."

"Ser Edmure," said Lord Lefford. "You must see that your terms are unacceptable. You have greatly overstated your position in this war."

"King Robb is in your lands, seizing your castles. How long will it be before the Golden Tooth falls, my lord? Or Ashemark? " Marq Piper joined the flow of the conversation, addressing first Leo Lefford and then Addam Marbrand, who winced slightly. "With Renly behind you and us ahead, how can you hope to win?"

"Our numbers are greater." Tywin Lannister answered.

"I fear I disagree, Lord Tywin." Edmure's reply hinted at barely contained cheer. This meeting was apparently going better than he expected. "I would have expected more of you, if you truly believe that numbers are the only thing that matter here."

This caused Lord Tywin to pause, and his answer made him seem… unhappy. "I was simply stating a fact."

Catelyn shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. _What is going on here?_ Tywin Lannister's behavior seemed strange. He was not at all how she had imagined him - she had expected him to have an air of power and command, but this was far from the case. He seemed indecisive, uncertain. _Perhaps the war has taken its toll. Or perhaps something is very wrong here._

"Lord Tywin," Catelyn spoke for the first time. "Would you like to present us with your terms?"

"As you will, Lady Stark," he answered. "House Lannister requires the immediate release of all western prisoners, including Ser Jaime Lannister-" he began, but Edmure cut him off.

"The Kingslayer will never be released, and you are a fool if you thought I would allow it. He will remain a prisoner until the war is over, when he will be put on trial to answer for his crimes."

"And the others?" Tywin asked.

"They will be returned safely if you accept our terms, although we demand that each noble house in the Westerlands supplies us with a child – a second son or daughter of their lord, perhaps, to be taken as wards of King Robb and his bannermen, to ensure the west will never again rise against the north. House Tully will continue to hold your nephew Willem Lannister for this reason."

This seemed to take Lord Tywin aback. He recoiled noticeably on his horse and glanced at Lord Lefford and Ser Addam. He regained his composure quickly, but Catelyn had seen a variety of emotions in his eyes, although the meanings were difficult to understand. _Is he worried? Why does he seem worried?_

"I ask that you bring the boy Willem before us," Tywin answered after a pause. "So that I might see if he is still alive, and in good health."

Edmure had expected this, Catelyn knew. Well, actually, they had both expected Jaime Lannister to be the one who Tywin would want to see. _Something is wrong. Why hasn't he asked about Jaime?_

Edmure didn't appear to have noticed, however, as he sent a guardsman riding back up the hill towards his vanguard with instructions to bring Willem Lannister to the meeting.

Meanwhile, Catelyn decided it was time for her to take a more active role in the negotiations. _I have to figure out what is going on here._

"You will be comforted to know, Lord Tywin, that your son Ser Jaime is also safe and well," she said first.

"Is he here?" Tywin answered, not nearly as emotionally as Catelyn had thought. There was no anger, no rage. The Lord of Casterly Rock was sullenly blunt. "Where is my son?"

"He remains in our captivity." Edmure said shortly.

An awkward, brooding silence settled over the meeting. Tywin stared at Edmure, and he stared back. Marq Piper glanced impatiently about. Lord Lefford and Ser Addam Marbrand exchanged a few glances. Both seemed on edge, Catelyn noticed.

"Edmure," she said quietly, a hint of warning in her tone. He misunderstood, looking back and seeing the guards approaching with Willem.

The boy looked rough, clad only in brown, roughspun rags covered in dirt. He was shackled at the wrists, and being led on a chain by two men in chainmail with a small silver trout pinned to their dull black surcoats. Catelyn suddenly felt ashamed. Willem Lannister was no more than fourteen years old, and they were treating him like cattle being taken to market. But when he saw Lord Tywin, something changed in the boy. He opened his mouth, and Catelyn heard him form the first sound of a word before he cut himself off, and lowered his head so his expression could not be seen.

"Well, there he is," Edmure was saying, "As you can see. Now, can we get back to the-"

A sound pierced the chilly air, the loud, deep cry of a warhorn. It came from behind them, and one of their guards turned immediately to face the sound. More blasts followed, other horns answering the call. And then, the unmistakable sounds of battle.

"We're under attack!" shouted the guard.

"What is the meaning of this?" Edmure demanded. "We are in peaceful negoti-"

The man who had been calling himself Tywin Lannister ignored this, and shouted loudly. "Release Willem and I will call off the attack!"

"What did you say?" exclaimed Ser Addam.

"But, Ser-" Lord Lefford began, and then stopped abruptly. Edmure was turning scarlet, and his hand had come to rest on his sword hilt. _Ser?_ Catelyn thought. _Ser?_ And then it hit her. _It's not Tywin._

"Edmure!" she shouted. "It's not him! It's not Tywin!"

And then, the chaos erupted. Leo Lefford of the Golden Tooth took out a horn of his own, and blew. And, seemingly answering the call, two hundred mounted knights broke off from the main Lannister force, galloping at full speed towards the wide ford in Red Fork where negotiations were fast breaking down. At the head of this attack, Catelyn saw a giant of a man, seven feet tall at least and clad in black armour. _The Mountain that Rides. Gregor Clegane._

Ser Addam Marbrand drew his sword seconds too late, and Ser Marq Piper had already shoved his own blade into the neck of Ser Addam's courser. It let out a screech of pain and tumbled backwards, blood spraying into the water. The Tully guardsmen who weren't in charge of Willem Lannister drew their steel against the Lannisters and Leo Lefford, and Catelyn's horse backed away, whinnying noisily. The man who had been calling himself Tywin Lannister began to ride towards the oncoming cavalry charge, waving his arms.

"Stop! No! Wait! My son is-"

_Ser Kevan._ Catelyn realised. _Willem's father._

And then, she watched open-mouthed as Edmure snatched a spear from one of his own guards, spurred his horse forward, and jammed the metal point into Kevan Lannister's back. And then she was moving, a combination of her horse's desire to run away and her own, now limited control over the animal. They were rushing through the water, and she heard a shriek of horror from Willem Lannister as his dying father collapsed in the saddle, but the boy was quickly silenced and Catelyn had barely enough time to see the spray of blood from his throat before she was out of the ford, moving faster and faster up the hill away from the running water, the sound of battle both ahead and behind.

She became aware of men rushing towards her – the sentries Edmure had posted, who had been surveying the negotiations, and then thunderous hooves to her right as Edmure overtook her at a gallop, shouting orders and somebody behind her was blowing a horn.

"Clegane!" Edmure was shouting. "The Mountain is trying to cross!"

They reached the top of the hill, and she saw Edmure's archers taking their places among the trees. She didn't dare look back, not until they were surrounded by infantry.

"Lord Edmure!" Someone was shouting. "The rear is under attack. Two thousand men, or more."

Catelyn was beginning to understand what was happening. Somehow, Tywin Lannister had sent a force across the river elsewhere to attack them from behind. _The negotiations were a distraction. To get us into one place, a place they could use._ And then, she was being encouraged off her horse by a handful of squires, as Edmure rode this way and that, shouting commands. They guided her through the mass of men to a large oak tree, where she was surrounded by guards. "Don't worry, Lady Stark," someone was saying. "They'll have to go through every other man in the army to get to you."

And then came the waiting. She sat down at the base of the tree, breathless, heart pounding and head in hands. She knew nothing of what was taking place, but she could hear it. Dying men, dying horses, men fighting in the river and in the forests, shouts and horns. The sounds that she had dreamt of since the battle at Storm's End, the sounds Ned had known so well, and now her son Robb and her brother Edmure knew them too. She was safe, or so they kept telling her, in the midst of Edmure's main force. But she could still hear the sounds.

Time seemed to pass slowly, but eventually she found strength to stand again. "What is happening?" She asked a man nearby who wore the arms of House Blackwood.

"Fighting is fierce, Lady Stark. Lord Edmure is holding the ford, but the rear has been badly bloodied by the surprise attack-" And then he cut off, starting eastwards towards the ford. Catelyn couldn't tell why, at first, but then she realised there had been a shift in the cacophony of battle. What it meant, she did not know, but the sounds were changing, growing quieter, sounding as though the battle was moving further away. _Is Edmure driving them back?_

Answers to these questions came moments later, when a bowman pushed his way through the crowd, shouting with glee. "The Lannisters! The Lannister army on the other side of the Red Fork! They're being attacked from the north!"

The word began to spread, confirmed by more and more footsoldiers who had been holding the ford.

"Where is Edmure?!" Catelyn began to shout, adding her voice to hundreds of others. "Where is Ser Edmure?"

It quickly became clear – Edmure was leading a charge with his best knights across the ford, to join the bulk of the fight. Meanwhile, in Catelyn's grove, the reserve forces nearest to her were starting to cheer.

"The north! The Lannisters are being attacked from the north!"

And suddenly, Catelyn was struck by the true meaning of the words. _Who? Who else is in this battle? Renly? Roose Bolton? Or another enemy?_ She began to shout again. "Who? Who has come? Who fights?" But there was nobody to answer her. And then, the squire was leading her frightened horse back to her, shouting. "The Lannisters are in full retreat! You must come and see, my lady!"

It took her over a minute to mount, and then the over-excited squire began to lead her through the crowd of soldiers. "Make way! Make way for Lady Stark!" It was difficult, but they eventually pushed through the masses and reached the point where the dirt track dropped downwards towards the ford, and she saw the Lannister army, perhaps fifteen thousand men, perhaps more, all fleeing south, scattering, dying. She could not see them all, of course, for her vantage point was not as good as that, but she also saw that another army, appearing to be mostly horse, was pushing them further south. It was like nothing she had ever seen. Corpses lay everywhere, floating in the river and on both banks, and she saw Tully knights in pursuit of the Lannister foot, and there were screams and cheers all around her. _I shall go deaf,_ she thought, unable to think of anything else. _There is no doubt about it._

She saw men breaking off from the slaughter, splashing across the ford and galloping towards her. Knights from Riverrun, at first. They were men with faces hidden behind helmets, bearing banners and lances and all manner of weapons. But then, she saw them. There were three. In the centre was Edmure, battered and bloody but laughing at some joke that had just been made, his sword sheathed and his helmet abandoned, blue eyes wild with the thrill of battle. To his left was a man with grey hair, but he appeared immensely strong and tall. He was clad in bronze armour inscribed with hundreds of strange shapes. _Runes. Runestone. Royce. Arryn. Lysa._

And then she saw the man on Edmure's right. Apart from his horse, which was wet from crossing the ford, he looked as flawless as he must have on the day he'd left King's Landing, as if no battle had even occurred. He wasn't even armoured, simply wearing a black jacket and trousers with a deep blue trim, and a silver pin in the shape of some kind of bird. He was unarmed, save for a dagger of Valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt that he held loosely in his left hand. He was short, particularly compared to the man on the left, but handsome, with grey-green eyes, dark hair and a small pointed beard.

"Cat!" he cried by way of greeting. "So good to see you again!"

And her horse began to step back, nervous of the strangers after the day of terror it had been through. It stumbled on a stone, however, and reared backwards. Catelyn Stark's shock as Petyr Baelish rode towards her was so great that she did nothing to prevent herself from tumbling from the saddle. Even as she fell, her brain was trying to figure out what had just happened. _Littlefinger?_

And then she struck the ground, and knew nothing more.


	11. Interlude: Bran, Theon, Jon, Daenerys

 

_Bran Stark_

_The crypts beneath Winterfell were dark and cold Rickon quickly grew restless, wandering the halls in complete darkness with only the stone effigies of the long dead Kings of Winter for company. Bran spent his time talking with Jojen and Meera Reed, and Osha, or sleeping. When he slept, he dreamt of the wolves, seeing through Summer’s eyes. They waited together in the dark; just the five of them among the bones of the Starks, while Theon Greyjoy, a man Bran had considered a brother, ruled the great castle above through fear and the swords of his men._

_Theon Greyjoy_

_If the people of Winterfell had hated him before, now they despised him. He needed to hold the castle, but he did not have enough men. Asha, where was Asha? Father? Was anyone coming? Ser Rodrik Cassel was raising the northerners against him. He had to hold the castle. He was the_ Prince _of_ _Winterfell, and he had to hold the castle. If Asha did not come, or uncle Victarion, or father, his fate was sealed. The heads of the miller’s boys above the gate made sure of that. The heads that they believed belonged to Bran and Rickon. His fate was sealed._

_Jon Snow_

_It was cold, but he was numb to it by now. He trudged alone through the endless white, Qhorin Halfhand ahead of him somewhere. Further ahead was Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, with an army of wildlings larger than any that had been seen before. And behind him was Ygritte. He had spared her. He wasn’t sure if he knew why, but he had spared her. He thought that perhaps he knew all along that he was going to._ You know nothing, Jon Snow, _she had said. Perhaps she was right._

_Daenerys Targaryen_

_She walked through the House of the Undying in the city of Qarth. The door to her right, the stairs going up. Always the right. Drogon screeched quietly on her shoulder, and flapped his wings. He was nervous, and she didn’t blame him. This was a place of sorcery and dark things, as she began to see when visions began to dance before her, telling of things past and things to come, and things that would never be. A beautiful naked woman being raped by four men with rat like faces… A figure whose face could not be seen, falling from a castle in the snow white clouds… A small boy on a throne of rock far too large, a broken statue of a lion at his feet… Ser Willem Darry, silently calling her into the house in Braavos, the house with the red door…_


	12. Sansa I

 

SANSA I

 

It was their second day of walking. Sansa frowned, listening to the birdsong and the sound of the stream as she brushed the leaves and dirt from the rough weave of the plain brown skirt she wore. _As if there is even any point trying to keep clean._

"I am sorry, my sweet Jonquil," Ser Dontos Hollard was saying, for what must have been the third or fourth time. "You deserve to return home in a carriage of gold, pulled by… pulled by white stallions… wearing a crown made from the finest metals…" He leaned his head back on the tree and closed his eyes. Sansa could smell the wine every time she inhaled; it was overpowering.

They were sitting in a thinly wooded area several miles north of Hayford. They had passed the castle about an hour ago, a quiet wooden thing on a hill. She remembered it from her journey south with her father and King Robert. The journey that seemed as distant as if it had taken place a thousand years ago, to a silly northern girl with silly dreams of the noble southern knights in their shining armour and the golden prince to whom she would be wed. But she remembered.

The land seemed empty. They hadn't seen another living soul since King's Landing. There were a few indications of House Hayford's smallfolk or retainers, and of the livestock they had tended, but the fields were barren and desolate. No crops grew. _It is the war,_ she had thought several times. _It taints the land._ And although King's Landing was a terrible place, she had found herself on several occasions thankful that she had been safe in the city when the fighting broke out. _But would that I could have been in Winterfell, with Bran and Rickon and Robb._

The Kingsroad itself was beaten and rough, as if it had seen a lot of use recently. There were countless signs that a great mounted host that had been in the area. When she asked Ser Dontos who had passed this way, he had said, "More likely than not it was Renly Baratheon and his knights." This was confirmed as they skirted around Hayford Castle, anxious to avoid detection, and saw the Baratheon stag flying high above the castle without the combatant golden lion that would have made it Joffrey's sigil.

"You must take me to Renly!" Sansa had stated, picturing the young lord she had seen at the Tourney of the Hand and around the court, with his bright smile and easy charm. "Lord Renly wouldn't hurt me. Robert loved my father, and Renly would protect me-"

This seemed to make Ser Dontos angry. "Renly is not Robert, and you are not your father. Renly has a pretty face and speaks pretty words, but he is ruthless. He would hold you hostage to ensure that your brother bent the knee. If you don't believe he would do anything to rule Westeros, then remember what he did to Stannis!" This silenced her, and she must have appeared downcast, because Dontos began apologising profusely. "I am sorry, my sweet Jonquil, but I swore to return you home. What kind of a rescuer would I be if I sent you from one Baratheon to another…?" After this, he had begun to drink wine from a waterskin he carried on his belt. It didn't take long for him to lose his motivation, and they had come to rest in a copse of elms where the leaves were just beginning to turn.

_Why must he drink? Why now?_ Sansa thought. _If someone came while he was sleeping…_ She looked over at him. His eyes were closed, his nose was red, and his chest was rising and falling gently as he breathed. On impulse, she reached over and plucked the waterskin from his belt and tipped the contents into the grass. Then she stood and moved to the edge of the stream, some thirty yards from her sleeping savior.

The water was clear and cool, and she caught sight of her reflection against the grey clouds. They had darkened her hair from its usual Tully auburn to a shade that was close to black. Sansa felt sure that this disguise aided in their escape from King's Landing, but that it had mainly been sheer luck. They had smuggled her out of the Red Keep, that hadn't been too difficult, with all the distractions that abounded in preparation for Renly's arrival. Leaving the city through the Gate of the Gods had been trickier, as the Goldcloaks were preparing to shut the gates and were weary of potential spies leaving the city. However, Ser Dontos had told them that he was simply a landed knight, escorting his sister to Maidenpool. He had slipped them a few gold dragons to help convince them. After that, they had walked and walked. They had spent the first night in an abandoned farmhouse, about an hour's walk from the road.

She filled the skin with the fresh water, and quietly returned it to Ser Dontos's belt.

He woke about an hour later, dazed and confused. She told him that she had spilt the wine whilst drinking some herself. Once again, he seemed angry with her, and became more withdrawn.

They walked as much as they could over the next two days, but it was tiring. However, people began to emerge. They saw farmers attempting to re-sow ruined crops, and several times they were passed by riders from King's Landing who paid them no heed. In the late afternoon they came upon the village of Brindlewood, which was where they learned that King's Landing had fallen. Sansa's heart had leapt, and then Ser Dontos had found a tired old inkeep who was willing to sell them an old black rounsey with a shaggy mane. He was big enough for them both to ride, so progress was good after that.

The next day, several men rode past them, not travelling from King's Landing but towards it.

"My lady," Ser Dontos said. "We should leave the road now, I fear."

Sansa hadn't understood at first, but an hour later they sat on a nearby hill, watching Renly's army pass by.

"How could Lord Renly be ahead of us if he has taken King's Landing?" Sansa asked.

"He must have split his forces, my lady. See how many horses there are, but so few men on foot. They are the ones who must have taken the city."

They watched the colourful host for a long time, and Sansa wanted nothing more than to reveal herself to them, the noble knights of the south with their bravery and chivalry. But then she remembered that shining armour meant nothing. The Hound was no knight, and he had saved her from the riot when the others had not. Joffrey's knights of the Kingsguard had beaten her whenever he asked them to. Dontos had been denounced by Joffrey and was probably not considered a knight any longer, and he was helping her escape. Her father had not been a knight, Robb was not a knight. Perhaps there were no true knights, who upheld the vows and gave meaning to the word. Perhaps there had been once, in the days of Florian and Jonquil. But not today.

They made no attempt to hide, and allowed their horse to graze freely on the hill. He didn't seem interested in running away, instead he simply circled them, chewing grass. A good few of Renly's outriders passed them, but acted as if they were part of the scenery, giving them glances but little more. Sansa watched the men on the road. Dontos nodded to the men who came close, but for the most part they ignored him. He was clad in the clothes of a commoner and seemed to be unarmed, so they had little reason to pay him any attention.

Soon enough, they had moved on, but Sansa was sure she'd caught a glimpse of a young man in a crown of gold, near the head of the long line.

She felt like they were making fair progress, after that day. As they got closer to the Riverlands the horror inflicted by the war upon the land became more and more evident. The fields, rather than being simply stripped of crops, were often scorched and blackened by flame. Villages and inns along the rode had been similarly torched. Sometimes, they saw scattered bones, and often there were mounds of earth that were, although unmarked, unmistakably graves. Sansa spent a good deal of the ride with her face pressed into Ser Dontos's back.

Eventually, they left the Kingsroad, riding west.

"This isn't right," Sansa said. "Winterfell is in the north. If we follow the Kingsroad all the way, it will get us there quickest…"

"Tywin Lannister may have left a force to hold the crossroads," Dontos told her. "We must leave the road to avoid it." Until now, Sansa had no cause to doubt that Ser Dontos would lie to her, but she began to question this now. They had risked the Kingsroad so far. Wouldn't any remaining Lannisters in the area have been defeated by Lord Renly?

That evening, she asked him where they were really going.

"Alas, my darling Sansa, my sweet Jonquil. You have seen through my deception, I confess it. But I told only the smallest of lies, with the best of intentions. I did not want you to worry, when we left the road. I cannot take you all the way to the North alone, we do not have enough food, or gold."

"So then you lied to me!" Sansa exclaimed. "You said you would take me home and you lied!"

"I would never do that to you, my fair maid," Dontos said. "I may not be able to your home, but I know who can. Your brother Robb is at Riverrun, with your mother and grandfather. If I get you safely to them, then you can all go home together, united once more."

Sansa had no idea what to say, so she simply said, "Thank you, Ser Dontos." _Mother and Robb. We can go home together._ Before they slept that night, he helped her to wash the dye from her hair.

They rode all day the next day, and their horse was beginning to tire. Sansa had named him Florian, after Florian the Fool and her brave rescuer. She was tired herself, sore from sitting in the saddle and hungry; their meagre supplies that Dontos had purchased at Bridlewood had ran out.

A mist hung low over the Riverlands on the morning of their third day off the road, and Sansa saw a strange formation in the deep grey clouds that blanketed the sky.

"There it is," Dontos said. "We are close, now."

"To Riverrun?" Sansa asked, looking around for her grandfather's castle and seeing no sign of it.

"To the great castle of Harrenhal, former seat of power in the Riverlands. Your brother's sworn bannermen hold it now, and they will take us the rest of the way."

_Harrenhal?_ Sansa thought, and then realised that she had not been seeing a cloud formation at all, but a _tower._ And there were more, now, emerging from the fog. Five in total, five towers in King Harren the Black's mighty citadel, which was now a cursed ruin and the subject of several of Old Nan's scarier stories, the ones Bran loved.

An hour later, they came upon the first of the tents. A young man no older than ten-and-seven hailed them through the heavy rain that was now falling. It was difficult to see, but he appeared to be wearing a badge that displayed a little red castle.

"Who goes there?" he demanded, in the tone of someone who was taking his job very seriously. Sansa wondered if they had given it to him to make him feel important.

"I am Ser Dontos of House Hollard," he said. "And I bring to you the Lady Sansa of the House Stark, daughter to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun, sister to Robb Stark, the King in the North. Now stand down, Ser, and escort us to the commander here at Harrenhal.

The next twenty minutes or so were a blur. She was bustled through the sea of tents to a gatehouse that was as big as the great keep at Winterfell. There were faces everywhere, staring, pointing, saying things that she barely heard.

She was led through a great courtyard towards the tallest of the five towers. Men were everywhere, some bearing sigils she knew. The Cerwyn battleaxe, the mailed fist of Glover, the three trees of Tallhart. At one point, an enormously fat man bearing the Manderly mermaid fell down on his knees in front of her, saying, "Lady Sansa, it is such a pleasure to see you alive and well," although to the best of her knowledge they had never met before. And everywhere was the flayed man of House Bolton.

Six men bearing Bolton badges were leading her up a wide staircase in the tallest tower. She could no longer see Ser Dontos – he had disappeared in the courtyard somewhere.

She was led into a massive, drafty solar, where a lot of people waited. The men who had accompanied her retreated into the gloom of the stairway, and she was left standing before the commanders of Harrenhal, still clad in her damp peasant gear.

They were standing around a table. There was a bald man with a beard like the tail of a mouse and close set, watery red eyes. Next to him was a brawny, dark haired man with thick muscles. Standing back from them by a good few paces was a boy of about nine or ten years. The two men were clad in dark ring mail and displayed a sigil of two towers, joined by a bridge. One of the houses from the Riverlands, Sansa knew. The boy wore badges of both the twin towers and the Bolton flayed man.

Next to them was a man who immediately struck her as nasty. He had a thin beard that had to be two feet long, at least, extending from his pointed chin, and a chain around his neck that seemed to be made of coins. He had a look of the Free Cities about him. Norvos, perhaps, or Qohor. He was the first to speak, and when he opened his mouth he sprayed spittle in every direction.

"Ahh. Thith ith the lady Thantha Thtark," he said, and she barely understood him. But she found she did not like the way he looked at her.

Along from him was an ageing woman with hair that was nearing grey and a mantle on her arm. She looked at Sansa with pity, but not familiarity. She was quite certain she had never met any of the people in the room, but they all appeared to know who she was, despite her lack of noble garb.

Next to the woman was a thin man with shoulder-length brown hair. He was the only one not looking at her, staring at the floor instead, with his hand on the hilt of an ornate sword.

And, directly across the table from her was a decidedly plain man with pasty skin and unremarkable dark hair. The only feature about him that stood out was his pale eyes that stared unblinkingly at her from beneath his smooth brow.

"Elmar," he spoke, and his voice was so soft she barely heard it over the pounding rain. "Introduce us to the young lady Stark."

The boy stepped forward, his weasely features illuminated by the candle burning on the table.

"I am Elmar of House Frey. These are my brothers, Ser Aenys Frey and Ser Hosteen Frey," he pointed to the men he now stood next to, those bearing the twin towers. "Lord Vargo Hoat, leader of the Brave Companions. Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks." Sansa gave a polite nod to the woman, and she returned it. "Ser Lyn Corbray of Heart's Home." The thin man glanced at her, but looked away again just as quickly. Sansa felt as though he had an air of disinterest. Elmar Frey finally indicated the man with the pale eyes, and said, "Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort." And then, silence fell.

Eventually, Lyn Corbray looked up at Roose Bolton and spoke as if Sansa wasn't there. "I told you she would be coming."

"Yes," Hosteen Frey answered. "But the question is, is it her?"

"I told you, didn't I?" Ser Lyn responded. "Ser Dontos Hollard would be escorting her from King's Landing, a highborn maid of three-and-ten with auburn hair and blue eyes. Sansa Stark."

"It was exactly as Lord Baelish said," Anya Waynwood said quietly. "Any further doubts about her identity will be cleared up when we reach her mother at Riverrun." At this, Lord Bolton raised his hand.

"Enough. You must be hungry, Lady Sansa, and weary from the road." He gestured at the table. "Be seated. I will send for some food." Sansa pulled out a chair and sat, her hands shaking. _Why am I unnerved? These are my brother's sworn men. They will not hurt me._

"Elmar," Lord Bolton spoke again. "Find Nan. Tell her to bring a pot of hot stew from the kitchens." The boy nodded and left. He looked to the others, and said, "You are all dismissed. Lady Sansa and I will dine alone. Ser Lyn, inform Nestor Royce of the Lady Sansa's arrival. Ser Aenys, dispatch riders to Ser Hellman Tallhart and Robett Glover, instructing them to return to Harrenhal immediately. Ser Hosteen, inform Qyburn that he is to send a raven to Riverrun to tell them the… good news." Everyone left, immediately and silently, and Sansa knew for sure who the true commander was here.

"Tell me of your time in the capital, my lady," he requested, and she spoke to him for the first time.

"I would prefer not to speak of King's Landing, my lord, but if you wish." She made herself look into his eyes, and began recounting, without detail, the events of her imprisonment, including her father sending Ser Beric Dondarrion to kill Ser Gregor Clegane, her father's imprisonment and death, Joffrey's leadership, and the riot that had taken place not long before she had escaped the city. She avoided speaking of how Joffrey had instructed the Kingsguard to beat her, and how her friend Jeyne Poole had been taken away, and how the Hound had shown her kindness. Roose Bolton listened intently to every word she said, never once interrupting. However, just as she was about to tell him about seeing Renly on the Kingsroad, he looked past her to the doorway.

"Nan, bring the stew here," Lord Bolton said. "Lady Sansa needs the warmth." However, there was no answer but a loud crash as the pot of stew hit the floor, spilling out into the cracks in the flagstones. Sansa turned quickly around to see a girl with short, messy brown hair and a long face standing frozen in the doorway, staring at her with familiar grey eyes. A girl Sansa knew only too well, a girl who enjoyed fighting with sticks and exploring the countryside, a girl Sansa herself had had nicknamed horseface. Her sister. _Arya._

"ARYA!" Sansa shouted, suddenly breathless as she thrust her chair backwards. And then she was running across the chamber, not noticing the hot stew soaking into her thin shoes, and Arya thrust out her arms and they were hugging tightly, fiercely, and for a moment Roose Bolton, Joffrey, Ser Dontos, Harrenhal, King's Landing, Riverrun, the war… all was forgotten. For a moment, all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, folks. Sansa AND Arya, in one chapter. Not ONLY them, but Roose freaking Bolton. Do you love me right now, or what? Leave a comment to let me know. Huge thanks to the leavers of the kudos and comments, you guys keep me writing!


	13. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you, on this site and the other place, expressed a desire for the Arya/Sansa reunion to continue... so I have decided... it shall! Enjoy, leave more lovely (or un-lovely, I don't mind) comments please. Kudos, as always, hugely appreciated.

  

ARYA I

 

Harrenhal had been a hive of activity over the last few days, with the arrival of a new army to the ruined citadel. They had come in the morning with a blare of horns, their leaders escorted to the a welcoming party of Roose Bolton's sworn swords and the lesser lords and landed knights sworn to the Dreadfort.

Roose Bolton met them personally in the vast expanse of the Flowstone Yard. Arya had not been close enough to hear what passed between the Lord of the Dreadfort and the newcomers, but there was a cheer, and she had heard someone loudly exclaiming about an extra banner. And, indeed, when she awoke the next morning, the silver moon and falcon of House Arryn was flying below the flayed man of Bolton and the direwolf of Stark.

The newcomers were twelve thousand strong, Elmar Frey had told her gleefully that morning. The Arryn foot, the might of the Vale. Arya had asked him where the rest of them were, but he hadn't known.

It soon became common knowledge that there were no real Arryns with the army. They were led by a massive man named Nestor Royce, who spent his time moving between Lord Bolton's chambers and the camp outside the walls. She vaguely remembered that after Jon Arryn had died, the Lord of the Eyrie was her cousin Robert, whom she had never met. He was too young to lead an army, she was certain. Apparently, Lord Petyr Baelish had married Lady Lysa Arryn, Arya's aunt, and commanded his new army to join Robb. She also found out that he had gone west with the rest of the Arryn army, to save Riverrun and attack Tywin Lannister from behind.

After the arrival, some of the men inside Harrenhal, particularly the Freys, seemed on edge. Roose Bolton, however, seemed quite unconcerned, carrying out his daily business as usual, never once missing a leeching. In the evenings, he dined with Lady Waynwood and Ser Lyn Corbray, two of the nobles accompanying the new army. Nestor Royce, however, preferred to take his meals in his tent.

Although there was plenty of room in the castle for all the men, Lord Nestor had ordered the men under his command to camp outside. It looked almost like a siege; the men of the North and Riverlands could not leave without passing the men of the Vale. Vargo Hoat's foraging activities had been stopped, also on Lord Nestor's orders. The food for Harrenhal was now provided by the Arryn soldiers.

It was raining heavily, and Arya was in the kitchens when Elmar found her. She had been trying to convince Hot Pie to let her have some bread, as she was hungry from her 'needlework' in the Godswood.

"Nan!" Elmar shouted excitedly. "Nan! Lord Bolton says to bring hot stew. A princess is here, from King's Landing!" Arya frowned. Could it be King Robert's daughter Princess Myrcella? But King's Landing had fallen to Renly. Perhaps it was the princess who Elmar was always talking about, the one he was supposed to wed. Shaking her head, she got the stew she needed and carried it to the Kingspyre tower. As she passed the guard on the door, he gave a mock gasp.

"Look out, Lord Bolton! She's bringing Weasel Soup! Hah!" Arya grimaced at him before continuing up the many stairs to Roose Bolton's solar.

When she entered the room, the light was fairly dim, from the storm clouds overhead. "...and we passed the castle at Hayford," a voice was saying. A stunningly familiar voice. "Renly had taken it, and..." The speaker quietened, seeing that Lord Bolton wasn't looking at her.

"Nan, bring the stew here," Lord Bolton said. "Lady Sansa needs the warmth."

_Lady Sansa._

She felt the pot of stew slipping from her hands, but she did not care. The sound of it made the auburn haired girl sitting opposite Roose Bolton turn her head.

She was slightly disheveled, her hair messy. She did not wear one of the colourful dresses that she loved so much, rather, she was clad in the grubby garb of a commoner. But it was her. It was beautifully, unmistakably Sansa.

"ARYA!" she shouted as she thrust her chair backwards, making an awful screeching on the stone floor. And then she was running, and Arya flung out her arms to catch her older sister in a fierce embrace. Their eyes were closed for a blissful moment, but Arya opened hers quickly and looked at Roose Bolton. He was looking at them both with an expression of mild interest. _I've been lying to him. He'll punish me._

"Sansa..." Arya said, feeling overwhelmed. Sansa was now weeping, a mixture of surprise and joy.

Roose Bolton rose to his feet. "This is a surprise," he said softly, but if he truly was surprised, there was no hint of it in his expression or tone. "Not only the Lady Sansa, but the Lady Arya as well? Eddard Stark's daughters."

"Yes, my lord." Sansa said, turning her head, still quite weepy. "Isn't this... wonderful?"

"Lady Sansa," Lord Bolton began. Arya remembered what Elmar had said about her being a princess. _We both are. Our brother is a king._ Arya forgot her fear of Lord Bolton, and felt defiance rising. _He's just a stupid lord, but I'm a princess and so is Sansa._ Arya had also forgotten that she hated princesses, with their flowery clothes and silly songs about the handsome princes they would marry. She spoke up.

"She's _not_ a lady!" Arya shouted. "She's a direwolf of Winterfell, a _princess_. And so am I."

Sansa gasped, but Roose Bolton simply said, "If you were still my lowborn serving girl, I would have your tongue cut out."

"Well, I'm not," she snapped. "I don't care if you threaten me. I'm Arya of the House Stark, and if you do anything to us, Robb will cut your stupid pale head off!"

Silence fell. Roose Bolton looked directly at Arya, and she stared right back. Sansa was still holding Arya's arm, tears falling down her cheeks.

"What I would like to know," Bolton said, "Is how Arya of the House Stark came to be serving me as my cupbearer, Nan."

"None of your business!" Arya said.

"Arya!" Sansa finally scolded.

"Lady Sansa," Roose Bolton said. "Did you bring your sister with you from King's Landing?"

"No, my lord," Sansa answered quietly. "She disappeared, right before... our father died."

"Father was murdered!" Arya reminded Sansa viciously. "By your precious Joffrey!"

"Joffrey Baratheon is dead." Roose Bolton said.

Arya's heart leapt. She was even more surprised and pleased when Sansa wiped away her tears and said, "Good."

"Because you are the sister of the king," he continued, looking at Arya with his pale eyes. "I will forget the insolence you have shown me here today, as a... thank you, for your diligent service as my cupbearer."

Sansa put her hand on Arya's chest before the younger girl could say anything. "Thank you, my lord. Please accept my apologies... Arya has always been... wild."

"The hour is late," Lord Bolton said, although it was barely sunset. "I apologise that you did not get your stew, Lady Sansa. I will have some sent up to your room."

"Thank you, my lord."

Lord Bolton summoned a guard, and ordered him to find rooms for both girls in the Tower of Dread. But when they learned that they would be separated, Arya clung to Sansa, who shyly interrupted Lord Bolton and asked politely that they be allowed to share a room. He stared at them for a long moment, before acquiescing.

Their room was draughty and dark, but a servant appeared to light some candles. There were two rickety wooden beds, with coverings that smelt musty and old. It was comfortable enough, however, and when Arya sat down on her bed, Sansa grabbed her blankets and huddled next to her sister.

"Arya..."

"What?" Arya answered, a little harshly. _She's just going to scold me for being rude to Lord Bolton. Well, I don't care._

"Arya... I'm so glad you're alive."

She had no idea what to say, but Sansa didn't wait for an answer. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Arya asked. "Why?"

Sansa began to cry. "F-father... he never would have died... we would be safe in Winterfell... but I... I t-told the q-queen... that we were... that we were leaving..."

"YOU told her that we were leaving?"

"Y-yes... I'm despicable... I'm so sorry, Arya, I'm so sorry."

"Sansa, I was there." Arya said quietly. "I was there at the Sept of Baelor."

"You... you saw..."

"Joffrey ordered Father killed. You didn't know."

"But, it was my fault... I was so stupid..."

Arya nodded gravely. "You were stupid," she agreed. "But you're not now." Sansa managed to smile, but the tears were still streaming down her cheeks. "You didn't cut off Father's head, though."

"I did enough." Sansa replied miserably.

"I've killed people."

" _What?"_

"I had to. A stableboy in King's Landing who tried to take me to the Queen. Some of Amory Lorch's men when they attacked us at the holdfast..." She did not tell her sister of Jaqen H'ghar. It was hardly the time for that.

"Arya, that's terrible!"

"I had to do it! Are you glad I'm not dead or not?"

Sansa sighed. "Of course I am!" Her eyes were still red, but she had stopped crying. "It's just... It's just sad."

"They deserved it," Arya retorted coldly. An uneasy silence fell, interrupted by another servant arriving with two bowls of stew. The girls proceeded to gulp it down, still not talking. It was good. The best food Arya had eaten since she'd arrived at Harrenhal, that was for sure.

"That was really good," Arya said as she finished, throwing the bowl casually onto the other bed. "So, anyway. Are you going to tell me how you got here?"

"I... well, we escaped King's Landing. Ser Dontos and I. Ser Dontos is a knight, or he _was_ , before Joffrey stripped him of his titles for being drunk at a tourney," Sansa said. "It wasn't much of a tourney, in truth. There were so few knights. Even little Prince Tommen got to have a go," she smiled at the memory. "But then Ser Dontos came, and he was drunk, he'd forgotten half of his armour. Joffrey ordered him drowned in wine, but I... I saved him. I convinced Joffrey that he would be a good new fool for the court, and that it was bad luck for people celebrating their nameday to have men killed. I was just making it up, but the Hound... the Hound..." Arya snarled.

"I hate him. I want him to die."

"Arya, I think he saved me. From Joffrey. He agreed with me. And he came back for me during the riot-"

"I don't care. I don't care what little good things he's done. I want him dead."

"He save my life, Arya! Doesn't that matter more to you than that stupid butcher's boy?"

"Mycah WASN'T stupid!" Arya shouted. "How dare you say that, you have _no right._ I wish he was here, and you were the one the Hound had ridden down!" She stood up furiously, kicking blankets to the floor, and turned away from her sister to face the wall.

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Arya..." Sansa said softly, but she didn't respond. "Arya... please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. You know I didn't. Please don't... please listen."

"I can't believe you said that."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Mycah wasn't... Mycah wasn't stupid. It's just... the Hound-"

"He's a murderer!"

"Only because of Joffrey!"

"Joffrey," Arya said, and spat on the floor.

"Joffrey," Sansa agreed. There was enough venom in her tone to poison an aurochs.

"Do you think he's dead?" Arya asked suddenly, turning back around. "Do you really think he's dead?"

"I think so. Lord Bolton wouldn't lie," Sansa answered. "Renly must have... King Renly."

"Good." Arya said firmly, echoing Sansa's earlier sentiment. "I hope they're all dead. Joffrey, Cersei, The Hound, Ilyn Payne, Ser Meryn." _Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Gregor. Valar Morghulis._ "You can... you can carry on with your story, Sansa."

"There's not a lot more to tell. Ser Dontos snuck me out of the city and we rode north. What I'm wondering, is how you got here."

"I was with Yoren." Arya said.

"Who?"

"He is... _was_ a man of the Night's Watch. He was in King's Landing to... to take Father to the Wall."

"Father was going to the wall?"

"Yes. Yoren was supposed to take him... but he ended up taking me, instead. Until... we were attacked by Lannisters because we were spending the night in an empty holdfast. They thought we were Robb's men. Ser Gregor took us prisoner, eventually, and brought us back here..." Suddenly, she remembered Gendry. _Gendry! What's going to happen to Gendry? Can he come to Riverrun with us?_

"Was it awful? Being a prisoner of the Mountain?"

"It was worse."

"Why didn't you reveal yourself to Lord Bolton?"

"I don't know..." Arya answered. "I don't like him. I don't trust him."

"I don't trust him either... but, Arya... how did you even get to be his cupbearer?"

"I... I tipped hot soup over the guards and released the northern prisoners. They overran the Lannister garrison. Then, Lord Bolton came and took me into his service." Sansa's mouth fell open.

"I... I just can't believe you..." And then, astonishingly, she began to laugh. Arya joined in. She simply couldn't help it. She leapt across the room into Sansa's arms, and pulled herself back under the furs.

"Arya..."

"I know." Arya said, smiling. "I know."

And they huddled together against the cold, more united than they had ever been. _When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. And I am not alone._

They awoke to sunshine streaming through their window slit and the fresh smell that always lingered after a good deal of rainfall. Someone was knocking impatiently on the door.

Arya opened her eyes first, untangling herself from her sister, stepping into the cold. They had slept fully clothed, so she did not need to dress. She opened the door, an impatient look on her face. Elmar Frey awaited her there.

"My princess!" he said, and fell to his knees. "You're really here! It's really you!"

"What?"

"Princess Arya of the House Stark! My betrothed!"

" _What."_

"We are to be wed!"

"Says who?!"

"Your mother and brother wanted to cross my father's bridge," Elmar said, grinning snidely and standing up again. "And you were their payment."

"I will NOT marry you!" Arya exclaimed. Sansa was rising now, calling her name. Arya didn't listen.

"Yes, you will!" Elmar laughed. "You'll be Arya Frey!"

"I'd rather DIE!" Arya shouted. "I'd rather kill you!"

"Arya Frey, Arya Frey, Arya Frey!"

"Shut up! Shut up now!" Arya shouted.

"No. A husband doesn't take orders from his wife."

Arya hit him. Her fist flew out, catching him hard on the left cheek, sending him staggering backwards.

"Arya!" Sansa scolded, as Elmar ran away down the corridor, in tears. Arya simply smirked.

Sansa balled up one of the sheets from the bed and flung it at her sister, hitting her gently in the face. Arya laughed and grabbed one of the furs, flinging it ineffectually back. They began a mini-battle with the bedding, which ended in them sitting next to each other on the stone floor, surrounded by their sheets and furs, laughing uproariously.

That was how Lord Bolton found them. He did not seem to approve, but Sansa stood quickly, brushing herself down.

"Good morning, Lord Bolton," Sansa said, still laughing a little.

"Yes, good morning, Lord Bolton," Arya said, very softly and quietly, mocking Lord Bolton's own tones. Sansa was struggling not to laugh.

"My princesses," he started. "I have bad news."

 _Oh no,_ Arya thought. _Did Fat Walda give you a disease?_ She looked at Sansa and grinned. Sansa, although not getting the silent joke, grinned back. Lord Bolton looked very much like he wanted to have them both flayed.

"A raven," he said, raising a scroll of paper in his right hand. "From Winterfell." The laughter began to die on Arya's face.

"I am very sorry to tell you this," he said, not sounding very sorry. "But your brothers, Bran and Rickon, are dead." No, he did not sound sorry at all. In fact, Arya was certain she saw a hint of a smile dancing mockingly at the corners of his thin lips.


	14. Brienne II

 

 

BRIENNE II

 

The road to the Iron Throne was paved with roses.

The smallfolk of King's Landing were out in force. The noise was immense, almost greater than the sound of the battle at Storm's End. But they were not there to do battle. The battle had already been won.

The cheers, the screaming, the adoration. The young king Renly Baratheon coming to claim his throne, and half the men in the south were there to cheer him on. It began at the siege lines, and reached a climax when Margaery Tyrell joined him clad in a gown of green and gold, riding side-saddle on a beautiful grey mare.

The weather was warm and bright, and this was taken to be a good omen by the superstitious. Renly's armour shone like an emerald sun, and the Rainbow Guard were just as splendid as they rode by his side. Brienne rode with her head up, looking straight ahead, and doing her best not to appear sullen or withdrawn. _It is against the faith,_ she thought, her big blue eyes flicking sideways, catching a glimpse of Renly's gleaming armour and his gleaming smile. _He is Margaery's brother._ She looked quickly to Loras, who was riding at Renly's side, beaming at the crowds. The majority of the Tyrell-Baratheon foot had left their camp, and now they lined the road to both sides, showing their continued support. _What do I do?_ Lastly, she looked at Margaery Tyrell, bright and beautiful as the morning sun, smiling as her husband did, waving to the soldiers.

Brienne had been quiet on the ride down the Kingsroad, but nobody noticed. First, she had tried to convince herself that what she had witnessed was all some mistake. If it had just been a kiss, perhaps she could have understood. But they had been naked. She had seen it as plain as day, and every time she had thought of it since, she had been unable to take her mind off of the sight of Renly...

But, no. She could not bring herself to think of him that way any more. Any feelings she'd had for Renly Baratheon were... gone? Was that the right word? No, certainly not. There was still a part of her very being that couldn't help but respect and love him, as his men did. _As Loras does._ She turned her head again to see Loras smiling not at the crowds but at Renly, adoration evident in his eyes. Margaery carried on as she had been, oblivious. _How could they do this to her? What do I do? Should I... should I tell her?_

They reached the Gate of the Gods, and the streets were lined with commoners and soldiers alike, shouting Renly's name, throwing roses. When Renly's horse set foot in King's Landing for the first time, the crowd _screamed_ for him. _Would they have done so, had they seen what I saw?  
_

All the way to Aegon's high hill, the noise continued. Trumpets sounded, now, and the bells at the Sept of Baelor were ringing out joyously, welcoming the new king. Renly, with his queen at his side, flanked by his Rainbow Guard and followed by a huge procession of lords and knights, was clearly enjoying himself. As they passed through the gates to the Red Keep, maids and highborn ladies alike appeared above them on the battlements, tossing handfuls of petals in all colours, shouting the names of Renly, Margaery, The Rainbow Guard and the Lords of the Stormlands. The banners of House Baratheon, the crowned stag that had given Brienne so much pride to look upon when they'd left Bitterbridge, the arms she had carried for her king into parley and battle, had been returned to their rightful places - all traces of the Lannister lion had been scoured away. And when they entered the courtyard, Lord Randyll Tarly stepped forward.

"Your Grace," he said loudly. "The city is yours."

They dismounted, and then the Rainbow Guard immediately escorted Renly into the throne room. The great hall that could sit one thousand men was almost full to bursting with the southron nobility, lords and retainers of the Stormlands and Reach, knights of different ranks and statuses, men of the Crownlands and the Narrow Sea houses, formerly sworn to Dragonstone, all awaiting the king.

And Brienne stood by his side as Renly lowered himself onto the Iron Throne and Ser Loras Tyrell placed his crown of golden roses gently onto his head. The Knight of Flowers then stepped forward and raised a hand. A hush fell over the hall.

"All hail King Renly of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The silence shattered, and Brienne was subjected to the loudest cheer since they'd left Bitterbridge. _I fear I may go deaf._ But when she looked up at Renly, high on the throne, she couldn't help but feel what she had felt before, pride, adoration...

King Renly stood, now, and raised his own hand.

"People of Westeros," he said loudly, and his voice carried to every corner of the room. "After the death of my brother King Robert, it came to the attention of Lord Eddard Stark that my supposed nephew, King Joffrey Baratheon, was not a true king, or, indeed, a true Baratheon. Joffrey, and his brother Prince Tommen, are bastards, born of incest between the Queen, Cersei Lannister, and her brother Jaime the Kingslayer." Here he gave pause, and a few people actually hissed at the sound of Jaime Lannister's name.

"It was this knowledge," Renly continued, "That caused the honourable Lord Stark to be falsely named a traitor and executed! How could I go on serving a king like that? I could not! And with the death of my brother Stannis, who but I could sit the Iron Throne? By right of birth, and blood, and conquest, I stand before you as your king."

 _Stannis's death, which you caused. but they seem not to care about that._ Indeed, there were more cheers. Renly waved them off good-naturedly.

"And so, I hereby make the following decrees. Firstly, all members of Joffrey's Small Council are dismissed, effective immediately. I name Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, to be my Hand of the King. I name Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, to be my Master of Laws. I name Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, to be my Master of Ships. I name Mathis Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove, to be my Master of Coin. The Citadel will choose a new Grand Maester, and I will discuss with my councillors before naming the Master of Whispers."

The hall filled with quiet discussion. Renly waited politely for it to finish before continuing.

"As some of you may know, Lord Robb Stark has broken his fealty to the Iron Throne and declared himself King in the North. The Riverlands have followed him in his treachery. But, can we really blame the Young Wolf for breaking fealty to Joffrey, after his father was brutally murdered by the Lannisters? If the Starks swear fealty and service to the Iron Throne once more, any crimes on his part will be forgiven, and he will be welcomed back into the king's peace. I would even be happy to arrange a marriage for his sister, Lady Sansa Stark. Does the Lady Sansa remain at court?"

"Your Grace..." Randyll Tarly muttered, and moved forward to whisper in the king's ear. _What is it? Has the Stark girl gone?_ Renly looked questioningly at him and spoke a single word. Lord Tarly nodded, and Renly turned to address the court once again.

"It seems that the Lady Sansa is indisposed, having come down with a fever of some kind in the recent days. No matter. Is there a Maester in my presence?"

A man clad in the robes of a Maester with a long chain of many metals around his neck stepped out from the masses filling the throne room and took long strides up the steps to kneel before the king.

"Your Grace, I am Maester Omer. I am in service to Lady Oakheart."

"Excellent," Renly said. "You will be in charge of the ravens until the new Grand Maester arrives. Send one to Highgarden, to Lord Tyrell, telling him that he can now take up his position as Hand of the King. Send one to Riverrun, instructing Robb Stark and Hoster Tully to come personally to court to pay fealty to me. Send more to Balon Greyjoy of Pyke, Doran Martell of Sunspear, and Lysa Arryn of the Eyrie with a similar message - that they must come to court personally to assure me of their loyalty. If they are not able to come themselves, they must send a member of their immediate family. That way, the faith of the great houses to the Iron Throne is certain."

"Yes, Your Grace. It shall be done."

"Send a sixth bird to Dragonstone, to my brother's wife Selyse and my niece Shireen. Tell them, that if they surrender to my forces and come to court, no harm shall come to them. Tell them that Shireen will be named Lady of Dragonstone, by her right as her father's heir. That will be all."

"Yes, Your Grace," Omer responded, and shuffled away into the crowd.

"Well, now!" Renly addressed the assembled court. "It seems I have a lot of people to thank."

And so began the monotony. Renly summoned all the knights and lordlings who had distinguished themselves, whether at the Battle of Storm's End or the Siege of King's Landing, and gifted them with honours, lands, knighthoods, and the like. Brienne's feet began to ache from holding up her large body in heavy armour. Before, she wouldn't have cared, but now it made her feel even more bitter and resentful. _I should tell the High Septon. What would happen then, I wonder?_ But she knew she couldn't do it. She knew she wouldn't do it.

She saw who was currently before the king - Lady Tanda Stokeworth, offering her surrender and her support. _Where is Ser Garlan Tyrell? He commanded the siege. Shouldn't he have been the first to be rewarded?_ Brienne looked around the hall, and noticed something else. Ser Loras and Queen Margaery were both gone. _What's happened? Where is Ser Garlan?_ Garlan Tyrell had been respectful and kind, and he had stepped in against Duram Bar Emmon's tormentors. Brienne thought that she would be very sad if something bad had befallen him during the siege.

The remaining Rainbow Guard were now dispensing knighthoods like they were nothing more than worthless trinkets. Brienne wondered how many of the soldiers had been lost in the battle. There had been little sign of the carnage in the streets - the occasional home or shop destroyed by rocks flung over the walls or gutted by fire. Scorch marks on the ground both inside and outside of the city, and the stench of the flames that had caused them. The Gate of the Gods, rent asunder by a ram. But there were no bodies, no blood. Randyll Tarly had done a good job of cleaning up for his King.

Eventually, Renly finished. People began to leave the Great Hall, finally, and he spoke to her for the first time that day.

"Brienne, I will be meeting with my small council immediately. You and Ser Parmen will attend me. Ser Loras will guard the queen. The rest of you," he spoke now to the other colourful knights, "Should find apartments in the White Sword Tower that are to your liking." Brienne suddenly realised that Renly did not have a full complement of guards. Not only had Ser Loras vanished, Ser Emmon the Yellow, who had rode with Ser Garlan in the siege, was also absent. Brienne could not actually remember seeing him since they had rejoined the foot. _Am I so preoccupied I could miss an entire colour vanishing from the rainbow?_

Together with Ser Parmen the Purple, they proceeded to the Small Council chamber. Renly sat at the head of the table, and they were quickly joined by Mathis Rowan and Randyll Tarly. Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne were still in Highgarden and the Arbor, respectively, so naturally they were not in attendance. Ser Loras did not appear, either. Brienne took her place by the door.

"Lord Tarly," Renly began. "What were our losses?"

"Near to five thousand, Your Grace." Randyll Tarly said gruffly.

"Five thousand?" Renly repeated. "How could we lose five thousand?"

"The imp. He had wildfire launched over the walls. Everything was burning."

"What of Ser Garlan?"

"He is badly wounded, Your Grace. Burned by the fires." Tarly answered. "The maesters are doing all they can for him." Brienne understood, now, why Loras and Margaery had left the hall. She felt a jolt of discomfort and unease.

"Ser Emmon?"

"He was burnt almost beyond recognition, Your Grace. He died before the dawn, from his injuries."

"What of our enemies?"

"There is no trace of Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, Lord Tyrion, Lord Baelish or Lord Varys. Not one of them could be found."

" _What?"_ Renly demanded. He sounded both angry and afraid. "Tommen is gone? And Myrcella? And the Stark girls? And Baelish and Varys? And the Imp as well? Lord Tarly, would you mind telling me who you actually _did_ manage to capture?"

"Queen Cersei and Grand Maester Pycelle. We have sent them to the dungeons. Joffrey is dead."

"I don't care about Grand Maester Pycelle! Where is Prince Tommen?"

"I do not know, Your Grace. I have men sweeping the city."

 _If Tommen escapes,_ Brienne thought, _any number of followers could rally to his cause._

"What of the others? Did you not think to question-"

"Pycelle told us that Baelish was sent to marry Lady Arryn and bring the Vale over to Joffrey."

"Find Tommen. Find Myrcella. Don't stop looking until you've found them."

"Yes, Your Grace. I will increase the search parties-"

"They're not in the city." Renly snapped. Brienne had never seen him so angry. "If they reach their grandfather and they bring the might of the Vale and the Westerlands down upon us, Lord Tarly, all will be lost," Renly said. " _Find_ them. _She_ knows where they are. She must do. Get it out of her. However you must."

"Your Grace," Mathis Rowan said, speaking for the first time. "If you're suggesting torture-"

"This is war, Lord Rowan." Renly said.

"I am not disagreeing, Your Grace. I simply meant to say that Pycelle might be easier to break. An old man, with little spirit, compared to Queen Cersei Lannister-"

"She is no longer queen, Lord Rowan, but you make a point." Renly said. "Lord Tarly, begin questioning Pycelle. Gently, to start with. Bring any information you get straight to me."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"What of Joffrey's Kingsguard, Lord Tarly?"

"One dead. Ser Mandon Moore. Ser Jaime Lannister is still imprisoned by the northerners. The rest are unaccounted for."

"Find them." Renly spat.

"Of course, Your Grace." _Lord Tarly is agreeable today,_ Brienne thought.

Renly rose, allowing his face to relax into a half-smile. "That will be all, then. It's about time I spent some time with my wife. Brienne?"

"Yes, Your Grace?" she answered, doing her best to sound neutral.

"Find Queen Margaery and escort her to the royal apartments with Ser Loras. I won't take any chances. There may be men in the castle who still hold to Joffrey."

"Yes, Your Grace." Brienne repeated, and turned to leave the room.

She asked a serving woman where Ser Garlan was being treated, and was not disappointed. Gossip clearly spread fast in the Red Keep. She followed the directions to the door of a small chamber in Maegor's Holdfast, getting lost a few times and being forced to ask various servants and Tyrell guardsmen for help. Eventually, however, she came across the room she required.

She quietly pushed open the door, and Ser Loras immediately turned to face her, angry at the intrusion. When he saw who was doing the intruding, he became calmer, but it was clear he was still resentful.

"Brienne," he said, stepping forward. Queen Margaery also turned, looking solemn. Behind them, Brienne could see a pair of Maesters fussing over a motionless figure on a bed.

"What is it, Lady Brienne?" she asked, sounding sad.

"Ser Garlan," Brienne blurted out. "Does he live? Is he going to recover?" Loras looked furious with her, but Margaery spoke before the Knight of Flowers could articulate his rage.

"Thank you for your concern, Lady Brienne. Our brother lives. What will come of his recovery, though, we cannot say."

"I apologise, Your Grace. It was not my place to ask." Brienne said, and she meant it. _Whatever Renly has done, she is innocent._ "The King requests Ser Loras and I escort you to the royal apartments."

"Of course, Lady Brienne, but you are sufficient protection for me. Loras, remain here with Garlan, please."

"No," Loras argued, "I won't, what if-"

"It is Garlan I fear for, not myself," Margaery said, giving Loras a long look. "One of us must stay by his side." Loras glanced at the Maesters, and then nodded reluctantly. His sister smiled weakly, and then walked past Brienne and out into the corridor. "Come, my lady." Brienne followed willingly, letting the door close behind her, shutting Ser Garlan off from the world once more.

Brienne wanted to remain silent all the way to the royal apartments, but Margaery was having none of it. "How do you like court, Lady Brienne?"

"I like it well enough, Your Grace."

"You don't sound sure." Margaery pressed. When Brienne didn't answer, she continued, "Garlan told me what happened. How you protected Lord Stannis's bannermen from harm."

"It was nothing, Your Grace. They were but hedge knights."

"I also heard a whisper of what happened on the Roseroad," she said. "About a wager..."

Brienne blushed, turning her face away from the younger woman.

"Lady Brienne," Margaery exclaimed, with affected astonishment. "You turn your back on your Queen? Why, how rude."

Brienne turned immediately. "I apologise, Your Grace."

"Don't be silly, my lady. I do not take offence," the queen assured her. "I simply wish to make sure that everyone in our Rainbow Guard is happy. Or else, they won't be as good at their duties. So, tell me. Have the men been bothering you?"

"No, my lady."

"But there's something else wrong?" _What do I do?_ Brienne screamed the question inside her head. _If I must tell her, I must do it now._ When she did not answer, Margaery spoke again. "Is there a problem with the king?"

 _How does she do it?_ Brienne thought. _How is she so perceptive?_ "I..." she began, but trailed off.

"Go on. You can tell me anything, Lady Brienne."

"I-I saw... I saw... the king..." she couldn't find the strength to go on, but there was a flicker of understanding in Margaery's eyes.

"You saw Renly... and Loras?" she asked, whispering now. Brienne nodded once, stiffly, and then realisation hit her like a thunderclap. _She knows. She already knows._

"You... you..."

"Shhh." Margaery said quietly. "Not here." And then, she spoke again loudly, apparently for the benefit of the empty corridor. "You must show me the Godswood, Lady Brienne. I hear it's even more beautiful than the one in Highgarden." And before Brienne could react, the Queen of Westeros was jogging away down the corridor, holding her skirts. Brienne knew she had to follow.

Margaery led her down a series of winding staircases, and across the drawbridge over the dry moat lined with spikes that separated Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the castle. Soon, they found themselves at the Godswood. There, the queen settled on a mossy stump, and looked up at Brienne.

"You saw Renly and Loras?" she asked again.

"Yes... yes, Your Grace."

"And you thought... I understand. Do not worry, Lady Brienne, I am full aware of my husband's activities."

"And you're... you're just..."

"Okay with it? Yes. More than that. I am happy for them." Margaery smiled. "They're a good match, don't you think?"

"But he... he is your husband..."

"Yes. And he will, in time, find a way to do his duty by me. My son with Renly will cement the alliance and sit upon the Iron Throne after him. My husband is kind, pleasant and courtly. What's more, he is king, and I am his queen. We did not marry for love, Lady Brienne, but everyone is happy."

"But, the faith... the faith names it a sin-"

"Love is love," Margaery said. "By what right do the Septons limit love? Loras _loves_ Renly, as much as you do, if not more, and Renly loves him right back. What right do any of us have to come between that?"

"I... I... Your Grace..."

"Brienne. I was surprised, too, when I found out. You will come to accept it. Please. Say nothing of this to anyone."

"I..." Brienne thought for a long moment. "I... will not."

Margaery smiled. "Good. If nothing else stops you, remember. Remember that the realm would bleed. Renly would lose support. The war would continue, but worse, more violence, more death. Renly can stop it. Renly can _save_ Westeros. You believed that. You love him. Remember that. Renly can stop it. But not alone; he needs me, he needs you, he needs Loras. He needs my father and his lords. His love could be the death of us all, if we let it. We must not let it."

"But... if it is so risky," Brienne said. "Why hasn't he stopped it?"

"Maybe he won't. Maybe he can't." Margaery said, and shrugged. "Maybe if he did, Westeros wouldn't be worth saving any more." She stood, sweeping her radiant green gown across the dead leaves of the Godswood. "You have a lot to think about, Lady Brienne. I can escort myself to my husband's chambers. You are dismissed." The Queen of Westeros flashed her a final smile, as bright and beautiful as the shafts of sunlight that broke through the curtain of leaves above them. "We will talk again soon."

And with that, she was gone, and Brienne of Tarth was left alone, in silence, save for the song of the birds. Calmly, she lowered herself down on the stump upon which Margaery had sat, and began to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Renly for the Renly lovers!   
> I have now achived two of the three goals I set myself when I started writing -
> 
> 1) Put Renly Baratheon on the Iron Throne  
> 2) Reach 30,000 words  
> 3) Be recommended on TV Tropes.
> 
> Hopefully I'll get the last one when I'm good enough for it. Thank you to the commenters last time, come back again and tell me what you thought of this chapter. Was it up to scratch? And, as usual, make sure to point out any OOC behaviour. I HATE OOC BEHAVIOUR. Thanks!


	15. The Page at Rosby

 

 

THE PAGE AT ROSBY

 

They were leaving, and that made him happy. His bed in the tower had been uncomfortable, and the food was far from the rich fare that he'd been used to at King's Landing. He did enjoy playing with the other boys, though, and he'd been allowed to look after a fawn that the men had brought back from the hunt.

Ser Boros Blount wasn't coming, and that made him happier. Ser Boros was ill-tempered and mean and craven. Kingsguard were supposed to die to protect the royal family, but Ser Boros had handed him to the Gold Cloaks as if he was no more valuable than a sack of rice. He was in the dungeon, now. Lord Gyles had been imprisoned too, but they had released him now so he could ride to King's Landing to bend the knee.

"Farewell, my boy," he had said, sadly and sincerely. "Blessings of the Seven go with you." And then he had started coughing uncontrollably and had to be led away.

They called him Pate, and he acted as a page in the castle of Lord Gyles Rosby. This wasn't the truth. In truth, He was Prince Tommen of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. His golden hair had been darkened with dye, but he didn't mind that. It reminded him of his father, King Robert. It made him feel strong.

His father had been strong. Once, he had been taken by the Master at Arms, Ser Aron Santagar, to see his father's mighty warhammer in the Red Keep's armoury. It had been bigger than Tommen himself, and he wouldn't have been able to do so much as move it, even if he had been allowed to try. On their walk back to the royal apartments, Ser Aron had told him the story of his royal father's victory on the Trident, when he had shattered the Dragon Prince's breastplate with a single hammer blow. On another occasion, Ser Aron had spoken of the Siege of Pyke, where Robert had killed several of Balon Greyjoy's sworn swords. Tommen had loved the stories. Although he did not like the idea of killing, he liked the idea that he might one day be as strong as his father had been, and that nobody, not even Joffrey, would be able to hurt him.

Aron Santagar was dead now. Tommen had seen him dragged from his horse by the mob that had attacked them the day they'd sent Myrcella away. His father was dead, too, killed by a boar. Tommen had been given a portion of the boar at his father's funeral feast, but it had made him feel sick, and he hadn't been able to eat it. His mother had scolded him about that.

His mother might be dead now, too, and that made him sad. But nobody seemed to know for sure. Tommen was thinking about her as they left the Rosby keep, picturing her face in his mind. He had heard Jasen, the captain of his guard, saying that King's Landing had fallen to Renly. That had been confusing, but reassuring. _Uncle Renly wouldn't hurt Mother. Uncle Renly is good._

He had forty men to guard him. They were Gold Cloaks, from the City Watch of King's Landing. They had been commanded by a man called Ser Jacelyn, who had assured him of their good intentions. Once he was safely at Rosby, Ser Jacelyn had returned to King's Landing. He had left a man named Jasen in command. Their names were so similar, Tommen had been confused at first. But Jacelyn and Jasen weren't similar in appearance - Ser Jacelyn had been tall, with short, dark hair. Jasen had red hair and a thick beard.

He was riding by Jasen's side today. "You must act as a squire," the man had told him. "If we are intercepted, nobody will notice a squire." This had sounded both scary and a little exciting, and Tommen was happy to obey. He had seen lots of squires in King's Landing, playing games, polishing their master's armour, or training in the yard. He had wanted to join them, but his mother had usually forbidden it.

"Where are we going, Jasen, ser?"

Jasen laughed. "I'm not a knight, Pate. Just call me Jasen." Tommen nodded, feeling strange. _I am Pate. I mustn't forget._

"But where are we going?" he persisted.

"To a castle far away, young Pate," Jasen answered. "Somewhere you will be safe."

Tommen pondered this. He hadn't been to many castles beyond the Red Keep. His mother often told him stories of Casterly Rock, where his grandfather lived, but he couldn't remember ever visiting. He did remembered one castle very clearly, though.

 _Winterfell._ Even the name made Tommen shiver with excitement. The towering walls, the ancient stones of the great keep. It was cold in the North, but somehow that made it better, not worse. The chill of the courtyard had made the great hall seem so much nicer, and the food had filled him with warmth. He remembered all the mornings during their stay that he had awoken to find the castle shrouded in mist, seeming magical, like something out of a story. He had felt as safe in Winterfell as he had in King's Landing, and there was something about the Northern castle that was appealing. He remembered fighting in the yard with Bran Stark using wooden swords. He hadn't won, but he'd enjoyed it all the same. His father had been happier, when they had been there. Once, awakening unusually early, Robert Baratheon had taken Tommen to the roof of the Great Keep to watch the sun rising over the vast expanse of the Wolfswood. He couldn't remember feeling as happy as he had that morning, before or since, even though his mother had been angry when she found out.

 _Maybe we're going to Winterfell,_ Tommen thought hopefully. It was certainly far away, it had taken them _ages_ to get there. And it was safe. He knew Lord Stark had been his father's best friend. But his father was dead, and so was Lord Stark. Lord Stark was a traitor. Joffrey said that they were all traitors.

Sansa didn't seem like a traitor. She just seemed sad. Tommen didn't like that. He wanted her to be happy. He didn't want Joffrey to kill her brother.

Bran hadn't seemed liked a traitor. Tommen had thought that he would be a friend. He had even hoped that they could be best friends, like their fathers had been. But Bran had fallen, and they had left him behind at Winterfell.

Tommen's mind continued to wander for the remainder of the day's ride, ignoring the bleak countryside around him. He was thinking of the pet fawn he'd adopted at Rosby, that Jasen had made him leave behind. Thinking of his parents, and his sister, and the Starks. When they made camp, Jasen approached him.

"Ser Jacelyn told me to give you this," he said, holding out an envelope to the boy. "It's from the Hand. Tyrion. Can you read it?"

Tommen nodded and took it, seeing that it was sealed with plain red wax. He quickly opened it and unfolded the parchment within.

_Tommen,_   
_I told the men to make sure you got this._   
_You are safe. The men you are with are good men, and loyal. You're off on an adventure, just like in the stories. You must be brave, sweet nephew. Never forget who you are._   
_If you see your grandfather, give him my regards._   
_Uncle_

He read the letter three times over, and then looked up at Jasen, smiling weakly.

"Thank you, Jasen, ser," he said, quite forgetting what he had been told earlier. "I'm going to sleep now, I think." His protector simply nodded, and moved to seat himself by the fire. Tommen walked to the pile of furs that had been laid out for him to sleep on and crawled under the largest. Clutching his uncle's letter to his chest, he began to cry, as quietly as he could, until it felt like he was going to choke on his own tears. The ground was cold and hard, and for one so used to the warm beds of the capital, sleep took a long time coming.

He awoke to the grey light of dawn, cold and uncomfortable. He had realised that his bed in the tower at Rosby wasn't so bad after all. They broke camp, and there was another day of riding ahead. The rode all day, dined on bread and dried meat, and made camp.

The days began to blur into one long trudge. Hours of daylight were spent in the saddle, and Tommen began to get very tired and sore. _I'm on an adventure,_ he told himself regularly. _I must not complain._ And, while he didn't complain, he did become very quiet and withdrawn, talking only when he needed to and ignoring the men who protected him in favour of vivid daydreams.

He couldn't have said how long they'd been riding for when the storm broke, but it felt like at least a week. The rain mercilessly hammered the land, forcing the men to take shelter in an abandoned village where most of the buildings had been burnt. Tommen was wet, cold, and miserable. He wrapped himself in his fur and sat in the corner, snuffling, not noticing that the attitudes of his guards were also turning sour.

They were forced to remain in the abandoned village overnight. They awoke to another day, grey and hazy with fog. The men began to complain to Jasen.

"How much further is it?" Tommen overheard one of them asking.

"Not far. Two days, at most." Jasen's response was curt.

But time wore on, with no change in the dull, grey sky or the dull, burnt land. Tommen sometimes asked where they were, or who had been here before, but only receive vague answers.

Four days later, they hadn't reached their destination. They had barely seen a soul since leaving Rosby - a few smallfolk here and there, but Tommen took little notice of them. He was cold and miserable a lot of the time. The colour had washed out of his hair, and he no longer felt strong. And, when they made camp at night, and Jasen gave him the best cuts of meat from their hunting, he felt the mutinous glares of his guards.

The next morning, he questioned Jasen again. "Where are we going, ser? Why haven't we arrived?"

"We're going to Harrenhal," he replied, sounding angry. "Lord Tywin is at Harrenhal."

 _Harrenhal._ He knew a little about it, of course, from his lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle. It was a massive cursed castle in the Riverlands that had been destroyed by dragonfire. _Not Winterfell,_ Tommen thought miserably. _Not even Casterly Rock._ It sounded exciting. It sounded amazing. But it didn't sound safe, and warm, and friendly. Tommen wanted safe, and warm, and friendly.

In the evening, as they rode along a narrow track surrounded by woodland, under the sunset of bruise purple and pale pink, they were attacked.

Tommen was riding as he usually rode, on his pony at Jasen's side. The men in the gold cloaks were all around, as usual. The first of the arrows flew through the trees and pierced one of them in the throat.

Tommen shrieked. Blood was running down the man's chest and he tumbled from his horse.

"Outlaws!" shouted one of the men.

"Or worse," Jasen responded. "Will! Help me with the boy!"

A man ran over to Tommen as more arrows began to fly, piercing flesh where they could find it and thudding uselessly into the ground when they did not. The horses began to panic and shriek, some hurt, others scared. The men were drawing steel.

Will lifted Tommen out of his saddle and placed him on Jasen's much larger horse, who gave a surprised whinny. Jasen ignored this and kicked its sides as soon as the prince was securely seated in front of him. Tommen heard himself shouting, panicked.

They rode off the path to the left, away from the attackers, and some of the men followed. Tommen heard combat from behind him. He felt sick. The trees rushed passed him at a blinding speed.

And then, a sudden halt. The horse reared backwards and Tommen closed his eyes. When the horse safely had all four hooves on the ground, Tommen felt Jasen's arm move, and heard Jasen's sword being drawn.

"Thrown down your weapon," a stern voice commanded. "And get off the horse." This was followed by the dull thump of Jasen's sword landing in the mud. _Why is he listening to them?_ Tommen thought, and tears filled his eyes he pressed his face into Jasen's chest. Then he felt his protector pushing him away and dismounting.

"Good," the unfamiliar voice said. "Now take the boy off the horse." Tommen chanced a look, and immediately regretted it.

They were standing in a clearing, and they were surrounded by men. These were no goldcloaks of King's Landing, though, far from it. They were dressed in rough colours, browns and greys and blacks, bearing no banners. Most were mounted, and the ones who weren't held bows, with arrows pointed at the man and the boy in the centre of it all. Tommen began to weep as Jasen pulled him from his horse, covering his eyes with his hands this time. He felt himself being set down on the ground, which was muddy from the recent downpour. Jasen spoke.

"Please. Don't hurt the boy," Jasen said. "He's just a squire…"

 _Remember who you are._ Tommen opened his eyes to see that Jasen had stepped away from him, and was addressing their assailants.

"Why are you so far from King's Landing?" the question came from the man who seemed to be leading their enemies. He had entered the clearing proper, mounted on a large horse and wielding a large sword. "And who sent you?"

"King… King Renly Baratheon." Jasen replied. "We're on secret business for King Renly. I cannot tell-" Tommen tried to make sense of this. _Uncle Renly isn't king. He can't be. If Joffy dies then I'm king, not uncle Renly._

"You'll tell me, or I'll cut your throat and have done with it."

"B-but…" Jasen stammered. "I've yielded-"

"I don't care. Tell me where you're going, and why."

"We were… we were delivering terms of surrender to Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal."

"Ah. Envoys, is it? Well, then. You won't have any problem showing me official documentation, signed and sealed by the new king." After this, a long silence fell. The bad man, the enemy, was the first to break it. "Ah. Well, then. I suppose you lied to me." He turned to his men. "Kill them both."

"No!" Jasen shouted. "Spare the boy, please! He's just a squire…"

 _I'm not a squire,_ Tommen thought. _I'm not Pate. I must remember who I am._ He opened his mouth and shouted frantically, "Stop! Stop! I'm not a squire!" There was a brief pause in the deadly proceedings, and Tommen pressed on. "I'm not a squire! I'm a _prince!_ I'm Prince Tommen! Tommen _Baratheon_!" His voice was high pitched, squeaky. There were tears running down his cheeks, but he knew he had to make them listen. Jasen was staring at him, stunned. "I'm Prince Tommen! Prince Tommen _Baratheon!_ "

"What in the seven hells is the boy talking about, Martyn?" one of the other men inquired of their leader, laughing even as he drew back his bowstring.

"It would seem," said a third man. "That the little squire is pretending to be someone important, so we don't kill him."

"No…" said Martyn, the leader. "I recognise him. I went to the Tourney of the Hand, remember? In King's Landing? There was a kid sitting with the royal family. I could swear… Lower your weapons, you damn fools!"

"I am!" Tommen cried, sounding like a sobbing, stroppy child but not noticing or caring. "I'm Prince Tommen! Look!" he was now quickly unfolding a piece of parchment that had been tucked into his shirt. "A letter with my name on it. From my uncle. From the Hand of the King!" Jasen had gone oddly quiet. Martyn, on the other hand, stepped down from his horse and approached, his sword drawn.

"Let me see that, boy." Tommen held it out to him willingly, attempting to wipe away his tears with his other hand. Martyn snatched it roughly from the boy's fingers and began to read. When he was finished, he folded it up and tucked it away.

"No…" Tommen moaned weakly. He didn't feel brave. He didn't feel strong. "That's mine…"

Martyn ignored him, turning to his men. "Well, well, well. Looks like we've caught ourselves a little _bastard,_ boys!" This was followed by a chorus of harsh laughter. _What does he mean? Bastard?_ Martyn was giving orders to his men, now. "Three of you. I don't care which three. Ride back to the rest of them, ahead of us. Now. Find them-"

"No!" Jasen shouted again. "You can't do this! He's a prince! By what right, by what authority do you take him like this?"

"Do you not know yet, you fucking fool?" Martyn asked scornfully. "I'm Martyn Rivers. Commander of the outriders for Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun. I am taking this _bastard_ prisoner under the authority of Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North."

The words hit Tommen like the blow from his father's warhammer when it hit Rhaegar Targaryen's chest. _Robb Stark. Lord of Winterfell._

"No! No, please, ser!" he shouted frantically. "It wasn't me, I didn't want Lord Stark to die, it was Joffy, Joffy and mother and please, please don't hurt me, please, you're not a traitor, you're not, please…" but a man was already bringing the rope, and Tommen collapsed into the mud, sobbing uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the strangest parts of A Clash of Kings for me is when Tyrion arranges for Tommen to go off to an unknown location with a bunch of random Gold Cloaks if the city falls. But that's what GRRM wrote, so that's what I have to follow.
> 
> How do you think I handled a Tommen POV? They don't appear to happen much in fics, so it was a fun thing to attempt. Love him or hate him, let me know in your reviews! If the response is good, he'll probably get another few chapters later on.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left such lovely comments last time! Please keep it up. If I didn't get reviews, I wouldn't write.
> 
> See you all on the next chapter, which will probably also not have Davos in. I keep thinking of things that need to happen before I can get back to the Onion Knight. We'll have to catch up with him later.  
> Until then.


	16. Catelyn IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a while. I have no excuses (apart for getting my first full time job... and login difficulties...)
> 
> Not much to say about this one, something of a quiet chapter compared to the last Catelyn outing, which is understandable. This will be the last Catelyn POV for a while. Another Stark will be taking over the duty of Riverrun POVing for a bit. 
> 
> Because the Other Site got this chapter before you lot, there'll be another very shortly... possibly even before the weekend is out. 
> 
> Also, there's a reference to the HBO series coming up in this chapter. Don't panic about it, though. It's a one off, most likely.

* * *

CATELYN IV

She awoke with a pounding head, and tried to recall what might have caused it.

She appeared to be in a tent. That wasn't completely reassuring. _The negotiations. What happened with the negotiations?_ It was starting to come back to her. _Tywin. Or Kevan. Yes, Kevan Lannister._

_Edmure killed him with a spear._

The haze that covered her mind lifted completely. _The battle. Willem Lannister, his throat slit. The Mountain. Edmure. Yohn Royce. Petyr._

She sat up violently and let out a slight moan as she immediately experienced a rush of dizziness. She heard hurried footfalls as someone rushed to her side.

It was a woman. She was clad in practical robes of blue and white that were stained with mud and blood in equal measure, and wore her messy dark hair long. She had brown eyes, and Catelyn's first thought was that she didn't seem Westerosi. _A battlefield healer, from one of the Free Cities, perhaps._

"Lady Stark," she said, in a voice that wasn't particularly accented. "How do you feel?"

Catelyn blinked, and shook her head a little. "I am… I am fine," she said, although the dull throbbing at the back of her skull continued. "How long was I unconscious?"

"You had a nasty fall, my lady," the woman remarked. "You slept for about three hours."

Catelyn didn't quite know how to respond to this, so she didn't. Instead, she asked about Edmure.

"He isn't here, my lady. But Lord Baelish wanted to be told as soon as you were awake. I shall fetch him, unless you object?"

"I… I do not," Catelyn managed. The healer rose to her feet and departed, without another word. No more than two minutes later, she returned, with Littlefinger at her side. Catelyn sat up in her makeshift bed.

"Cat," Petyr said. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you," she replied coolly.

"Do I have your leave to go, my lord?" the healer interrupted, adressing Littlefinger with a hint of defiance in her tone. "There are others in greater need of my aid." He raised a hand to dismiss her, but Catelyn spoke.

"Wait. I didn't thank you," she said. "What's your name?"

"Talisa," the healer replied shortly.

"Thank you, Talisa," Catelyn told her. The other woman nodded and curtseyed before departing.

"Cat," Petyr Baelish began.

" _What_ are you doing here? _What?"_ she demanded furiously. "How dare you? I trusted you! My husband trusted you! And you repaid us with treachery!"

"Cat, please," he said quickly. "You must listen to me. I supported your husband. I wanted him to be protector of the realm, and I begged him to seize the chance-"

"You _betrayed_ him. He trusted you and you betrayed him!"

"I never wanted for him to die. Joffrey's cruelty and Ned's own honour killed him, not I. You know I did all I could to save him."

"Then why didn't you save him?" Catelyn shouted, shaking a little. The dizziness had returned- she felt like the world was rocking back and forth, as if they were on the deck of a ship. Petyr moved quickly towards her and grabbed her hands.

"I tried, sweet Cat, I swear it. When Joffrey called for your husband's head, I begged him to stop. I did all I could."

"You… you…"

"And after Joffrey was crowned king, I tried to undermine his authority. When the Queen commanded me to marry your sister-"

Catelyn was stunned. "You're the Lannister lord. You married Lysa."

"I did," Petyr said with a hint of a smile. He released his grip on her. "But I am no Lannister lord. The Vale holds to Winterfell, and to Robb."

"But..."

"I am deeply sorry, about your husband's death. He was meant to take the black, join the Night's Watch. It was Joffrey, all Joffrey." he said. _You don't sound sorry,_ Catelyn thought bitterly. _You don't sound sorry at all._

"If you hadn't betrayed Ned, he'd still be alive," she replied, sharply and certainly.

"Would he be? You saw Renly. He took the throne because he wanted it, not because he had any right to it. If Lord Eddard had stood in his way, then he would have been killed just the same. Your husband supported Stannis's claim, to the end."

"If Ned had lived… if he'd been able to raise the North for Stannis-"

"Renly knew where your husband's loyalties lay. Poor old Ned would never have left King's Landing alive, Joffrey or no Joffrey."

"But…" Catelyn said. It all sounded so unbelievable. _Renly may be arrogant, but he has honour. He wouldn't..._

"Listen to me, Cat," Littlefinger said, looking her directly in the eye. "Renly doesn't matter, Stannis doesn't matter. There is only one King who matters, now. Robb."

"Robb?"

"I did my best to save your husband's life. Is that not enough to earn your forgiveness for this imagined betrayal? I persuaded your sister, my wife, to see reason and support your son's cause. Is that not enough to earn your forgiveness?" She began to answer, but he cut her off. "Your daughters, Cat. Arya vanished, on the day they took your husband. Nobody knows where she is, but I searched every inch of the city so that I might find her before the Lannisters did." He paused, to let this sink in, before saying, "And Sansa. Sansa should be safe at Harrenhal as we speak, with Roose Bolton and Nestor Royce. I had one of my agents remove her from King's Landing to keep her safe from Renly. Is _that_ not enough to earn your forgiveness?"

_Arya. Gone,_ Catelyn thought, feeling numb. _Dead. But Sansa. Safe. The gods give with one hand and take with the other. I must be strong for Edmure. I must be strong for Robb._

She gritted her teeth and rose to her feet. Littlefinger took an awkward step away from her. "Where's my brother?" she asked firmly, leaving the topic of forgiveness hanging above them like a storm cloud. She thought for a moment that she saw a hint of anger on his face when he saw that his dramatic speech seemed to have had little affect on her.

"The Lannister force split three ways when we struck from the north. Edmure and Yohn Royce pursued them towards Hornvale in the south west, Clement Piper and Jonos Bracken towards Wayfarer's Rest in the west, and Jason Mallister east, back into the heart of the Riverlands"

"What of Lord Tywin?" she asked hopefully, but Littlefinger simply shrugged.

"Bronze Yohn Royce is commanding my forces. I'm afraid I'm not much of a fighter, as you might remember. Lord Tytos Blackwood and Ser Jasper Redfort have remained here with five hundred men to escort us both back to Riverrun, where we can await the return of your brother and son."

"Very well," Catelyn said. "We shall leave as soon as possible."

"As you wish… Lady Stark," he said simply.

They rode together on the way north, but Catelyn refused to do so much as look at Petyr Baelish. She tried her best not to think of him at all, which was easier than she thought it would have been, mainly due to her sudden weariness around horses. Before, she had felt at home in the saddle; riding came naturally to her. Now, however, she was aware of every step, every movement, every shift in her own position. She encouraged this, constantly asking herself questions like, _am I sitting correctly?_ or, _are there any obstacles that need to be avoided?_ But, every so often, she caught sight of Petyr out of the corner of her eye, and his voice was always ringing in her ears from his jovial conversations with the highborn nobles who accompanied them.

_He betrayed Ned. Who's to say he won't do the same to Robb?_ Littlefinger had made some little attempt at conversation with her, but Tytos Blackwood was in high spirits, and he more than made up for her silence. _But if he tells it true, he saved Sansa._ But was it true, though? Catelyn remembered the dagger, the dagger of Valyrian Steel carried by the footpad who'd tried to slay her son Bran. She'd asked Petyr who it had belonged to.

"The Imp," he'd said. "Tyrion Lannister." Truth or lie? Catelyn wasn't sure. _The gods judged the Imp innocent, of that crime at least. But what of Petyr? If Robb thought for one moment that he'd had anything to do with the attempt on Bran's life…_ Catelyn had little doubt that Robb would order him hanged immediately, and their newfound alliance with the Vale would be at an end.

Gritting her teeth and rubbing the back of her head, she returned her attention to the ride.

When they made camp that night, she ate alone in her tent. Petyr did not come to her… when she was awake, at least. When she slept, however, she dreamt of him.

It was a familiar setting, one she'd visited several times recently while awake. The canopy of trees above her, the carpet of flowers below. The Godswood at Riverrun. It was winter, or early spring, she knew from the snow smattered upon the ground.

He was waiting for her beneath the slender weirwood. It was the boy he was, not the man he'd become. He had no beard, and his dark hair was free from any trace of grey.

WIthout knowing why, she held out a hand to him, and he took it. For a dream, it was surprisingly real. She saw the individual snowflakes clinging to his hair with surprising clarity. And when he smiled, Petyr Baelish was in that moment so sad and so beautiful she wanted to cry.

"Cat," said a voice that echoed all around. It wasn't Petyr. She felt their hands pulling apart, but she knew not whether it was by her will, or his. Catelyn turned, and was strangely unsurprised to see Brandon Stark standing before them. He smiled, too, but it was a wild, furious smile, and she saw that the greatsword Ice was in his hand.

"Brandon!" she tried to shout, realising his intent, but it made no difference. "Brandon, no!"

The wild wolf swung the sword in a great arc above his head, and Cat winced as she waited for the cold steel to bite into Petyr's flesh, but the killing blow did not come. Petyr was no longer beside her. Instead, he she saw him standing beside Brandon. That was when she realised with a jolt that it was not Brandon at all, but Robb, her son Robb.

"Mother…?" he said, her beloved eldest boy, sounding confused. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and did he nothing but stare at her helplessly. And then Petyr was raising the dagger, the smokey grey steel that had scarred her hands, and he drew the blade across Robb's throat.

The greatsword Ice slipped from her son's pale hands and the blade shattered into a thousand glittering pieces on the forest floor, which were joined by a pool of blood. In her pavillion on the road south of Riverrun, Catelyn Stark awoke and sat up straight in bed, breathing hard.

_A dream. Nothing but a dream._

The riding was easier, that day, more natural, but Catelyn put more focus into it than she ever had before. Anything was better than thinking about her dream. The memories had faded in the light of day, but the general idea, the general _feel_ had stuck with her. Whenever she looked at Littlefinger, she felt a little ill. He spoke to her a few times, but she ignored him as best she could.

They reached Riverrun that evening. Catelyn felt some trepidation as they approached the gates, but the banners of Tully and Stark still flew proudly above them and horns sounded to herald their coming. Without thinking, she glanced at Petyr. He was looking all around, his expression unreadable. _He hasn't been here since my father sent him away,_ she realised. She found that she pitied him, just a little, on top of everything else.

Devan Seaworth was waiting in the courtyard for her, standing beside Ser Desmond Grell. When he saw her, he rushed forward and bowed deeply. Ser Desmond echoed the motion, and the assembled knights and smallfolk who dotted the courtyard followed.

Then, the master-at-arms saw who rode with them, and gasped audibly. "Littlefinger?"

"The very same." Petyr said, smiling good-naturedly as he dismounted. "But you must call me Lord Baelish, now, ser."

"Hah!" Ser Desmond laughed. "Clawed your way up out of the dust, eh? Well done, lad!"

"More than you might think. I have wed Lady Lysa."

Ser Desmond paled. Fortunately, Devan interrupted before anything more could pass between them. "My lady!" he said excitedly. "Ser Desmond has been teaching me swordplay. He says I'll be good at it, one day."

_I was out of the castle for less than a week,_ Catelyn thought. _How has the boy changed so much? He is acting as a boy his age should._ She forced a smile onto her face and nodded. A silence descended upon them. Devan's face fell, apparently disappointed by her reaction. Petyr smiled around at the others in the courtyard, perhaps searching for faces he recognised. Desmond Grell stared at him suspiciously.

"Ser Desmond," Catelyn said finally, dismounting herself. Devan hurried over and took her horse by the reins, leading it away. "How fares my father?"

"There is no change in his condition, my lady."

Catelyn nodded. "I will visit him," she said simply. "Have the men find Lord Baelish suitable accommodation." _Far from my own chambers,_ she added silently, and departed, leaving Ser Desmond looking slightly confused. Tytos Blackwood would be along shortly to explain everything to him, she was sure, and she had more pressing concerns.

She had quite forgotten her father, in everything that had happened. He was old and sick and frail, but he was Lord of Riverrun still, and Catelyn hadn't even considered what his feelings might be on this matter. Edmure seemed willing to welcome Littlefinger with open arms, but he wasn't lord of Riverrun yet. And how would Hoster Tully react to the news that his younger daughter had wed the grandson of a sellsword?

Her visit wasn't a long one, however, as she found her father too ill to have an opinion on the matter of Littlefinger or anything else. He mumbled a few words to her, words she didn't understand, before falling back to sleep. Catelyn bowed her head and left his presence as quickly as she could, consulting first with the Maester before retreating to her bedchamber.

Petyr Baelish requested to visit her again that night, a guard informed her. She rejected him, stating that she was too tired. _He dare not make trouble about it. He may have the Vale in his grasp, but not the Riverlands._

She considered going to see Devan, but eventually decided against it. _I bring the boy no happiness. I just pray he has the sense to keep that accursed sword away from Ser Desmond._ Instead, she slept.

It was a peaceful sleep, a healing sleep. Her dream was of Sansa coming to Riverrun and running to embrace her, while Edmure and Robb stood off to the side, smiling. When she awoke, she as though her unease had been alleviated somewhat. She dressed in light clothes and ate a light breakfast alone in the lord's solar, listening to a chorus of birdsong arising gently from the Godswood. Petyr Baelish did not bother her. _My daughter is safe._ She had tried to doubt it, she had tried to deny it, but she found she had to trust what Littlefinger had said. _Sansa is safe. I believe it._

It was noon when Maester Vyman came to her as she prayed in the sept, the letter clasped in his shaking right hand.

"Maester?" she asked him. "What is it? What's wrong?" _Dark wings, dark words._

"My lady. Lady Catelyn…" the old man held the letter out to her, and she snatched it from his hands.

She had to read it three times over before she could make sense of it. _Bran and Rickon._ She felt as if she had been suddenly plunged into freezing water.

_Bran and Rickon are dead._

She read it again, one last time. Every word was like a dagger in her heart.


End file.
